


Paris Holds The Key

by copycat_capycot



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copycat_capycot/pseuds/copycat_capycot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anastasia!AU.</p><p>Ten years ago, the Grand Duchess Marie Dupain-Cheng disappeared without a trace.</p><p>But Marinette didn't care about that, not as long as she could reunite with the person who had left her a silver ring and a promise: "Together in Paris."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rumor in St. Petersburg

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the 1997 film Anastasia. I highly recommend that you watch the 1997 animated film before reading.

She remembered someone kind.

She must have been surrounded by kindness before because there are other memories—they were more faint, but she remembered soft touches, gentle words, robust laughter. No matter how faint they were, she detected only kindness, but no darkness. This relieved her even if the beginning of her new memories, her new memories _after_ , began in the dark. A dark night in dark clothes, lying on the cold dark ground. She shivered at the mere recollection.

But there had been someone special, someone whose kindness she managed to remember more clearly. Whenever she fingered her silver ring, the only personal belonging she had kept from that night, she recalled warm sunshine personified. This person had been as strong and memorable as the sun, and just as distant. Unreachable.

But this person had been kind. This person had comforted her. This she knew. This she remembered, and nothing else besides a promise.

_Together in Paris._

Marinette woke up with tears in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

As Adrien, he would rather have starved than to survive off of other people's naivete and misfortune. He would have starved from his principles, from his own youthful idealism, and from the senseless pride he would have clung onto as an Agreste.

That was why Chat Noir had to exist. Chat Noir threw away Adrien's principles and abandoned everything else that came with them, save Nino. If it hadn't been for Nino, Chat Noir might have starved anyway from sheer ignorance of how the world worked. But his best friend had been a little smarter, a little wiser, and the two of them made a living somehow on their own. Both Adrien and Chat Noir were indebted to Nino.

“If you wanted to pay me back,” Nino said, frowning, “couldn't you have come up with a less risky idea?”

“Come on, Bubbler,” Chat grinned at his best friend, legs swinging from the drawer he was perched on. “You're making it sound worse than it actually is. With your brains and my stealth, we'll pull this off purr-fectly. No more thieving or scamming, no more cold winters in Russia. We can finally leave St. Petersburg. We'll be rich!”

“We'll be rich,” Nino repeated. He was still frowning. “I thought you didn't care about that anymore. And don't call me Bubbler.”

Chat cocked his head to the side, surveying his best friend. Even though the two of them made their living from forging papers, checks, anything they could get their hands on, Nino had never gone a night's sleep without a guilty conscience. But it was their sad reality; for all that Nino hated being called the Bubbler, he was one. They created brief colorful illusions large than life, and escaped the scene of the crime when the illusions threatened to shatter. This was reality, and this was their means of survival now. It wasn't as if Chat liked what they did either, but Nino had always been the better person. Chat had lost something along the way, something that Adrien once had, but he was sure that he was better off without it. Someone had to be the shameless one.

Nino still looked troubled. Chat said again, more gently, “We'll be rich.”

“Again, I thought you didn't care about that anymore.”

“I've never cared about that. It's about getting out of Russia and back to Paris. And hey, if we earn some sweet reward money along the way, I wouldn't say no. It would be a new lease on life, Nino, what do you say?”

It was a chance to start again with a blank slate. Nino found himself relenting despite his misgivings.

“You realize that most of the plan is dependent on a stranger?”

“We'll hold auditions,” Chat explained. “I know a few people and they'll be cautious about spreading the word. We'll set it up nearby and have the girls audition at night.”

“Strangers.”

“Look, we both know more about the royal family than most of Russia. We can train her no problem. And if she needs special assistance...” Eyebrow waggle.

Nino ignored the eyebrow waggle and began running numbers through his head. “We'll be betting the rest of our savings on a girl we don't know exists yet. What makes you think we can find someone who can learn to play the part in a matter of days?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Why are you so confident? Countless others have attempted to fool the Empress.”

Chat grinned again, showing all of his teeth, and reached into his coat pocket. “Now that, my friend, is because of these.” He withdrew his clenched hand and opened it slowly for Nino's curious eyes. A pair of earrings sparkled on Chat's open palm. The earrings glimmered red and black, and Nino knew from only a look that the earrings were of quality make. He wondered why it was that Chat Noir hadn't pawned them off early into their illegitimate careers, but Chat Noir wouldn't have kept them without good reason. That still didn't explain how pieces of jewelry could possibly guarantee their success.

“Earrings?”

“Trust me, these earrings will convince the Empress that our Grand Duchess Marie is the real deal.”

“What's so special about them?”

Chat's face closed off immediately. Nino had seen Chat do that several times in the past, and that meant Chat wasn't about to explain himself, not now or ever. So he sighed gently and sat back as Chat put the earrings away. As Chat began to ramble on about the auditions and how they would train the would-be Marie impersonator, Nino worried about Adrien.

“Adrien?”

Chat Noir stopped mid-sentence.

“I'll go along with this, but on one condition. Are you really okay with this plan?”

Dryly, “I _was_ the one who suggested it. Why wouldn't I be okay with it?”

Nino hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. “Ladybug wouldn't have wanted this for you.”

He had crossed a line. He knew it the moment Chat's green eyes narrowed. Nino only used Ladybug to deter Chat from his biggest, riskiest, and worst crimes. If he was lucky, it would work, but more often than not, Chat would go along with his plans anyway and give Nino the silent treatment for the next few days. It had been his last gamble, and he had lost.

Adrien looked at Nino in the face and snapped, “Ladybug is _dead_.”

Then he blinked, and it was Chat Noir who gave Nino one last cold look before leaving the room, earrings fisted in trembling hands.

 

* * *

 

The children of the People's Orphanage gave Marinette a farewell party, despite Comrade Damocles's nervous fluttering in the background. Marinette knew that she shouldn't linger, that it would be better if she left immediately and started her new job at the fish factory as soon as possible. But as she stared at the dirt-smudged faces that surrounded her, some scrunched up in order to hold back tears, she wanted to cry herself and become weak again. She had been woken up with a gift of chocolate, just a small mouthful of it, and she had come close to tears then because she could only imagine how much work and secrecy had gone into obtaining this precious sweet. Then the children sang for her, and it was supposed to be a happy song that wished good luck to travelers, but they trailed off and surrounded Marinette and refused to let her go.

“It's about time,” Comrade Damocles interjected for about the seventh time, but the children groaned and booed at him, and they clung to Marinette's hands and clothes and legs.

“Don't go, Marinette!”

“You make the prettiest dresses, Marinette!”

“Who will help Alexander when he wets the bed, Marinette?”

“Stay, Marinette.”

“Where is the fish factory, Marinette? Is it far?”

“Please come back, Marinette!”

She wanted so desperately to be like them again, to be young and fearful and ignorant, but she was eighteen. She had her childhood here for the last ten years, and though it hadn't been the happiest, it hadn't been unhappy either. Marinette glanced at Comrade Damocles's strained, owl-like face, and nodded briefly at him.

“Good-bye, everyone.”

Twenty more precious minutes were spent comforting the weeping children, but Marinette promised to visit and she wound her scarf carefully around her neck before finally stepping outside. As she straightened the cap on her head, Comrade Damocles awkwardly held out two bright red ribbons.

“For your hair,” he said, and went on as if he hadn't given her anything. “Continue straight onto the path until you reach the fork. The fish factory will be on the left.”

Marinette stared down at the ribbons and then hugged Comrade Damocles tightly, despite failing to reach all the way around his waist. He allowed it for a few seconds, and then coughed politely and stepped back. She turned to gaze at the children who were waving from the orphanage, and smiled.

“Good-bye.”

She ran down the road, harshly breathing in the cold air, and she stopped once the orphanage was out of sight. She was panting from the adrenaline and also from the overwhelming fear of being alone again in the world, just like how she was on that dark night on the cold dark ground. But it was different this time. She was ten years older, and she had protection. The chocolate was crammed into one of her coat pockets, and the ribbons in another. Marinette took the ribbons out and felt the soft material.

“For your hair,” Comrade Damocles had said.

Marinette had woken up on the cold hard ground with her hair in pigtails. She had stopped wearing that hairstyle after the first few years, when it became clear that only more orphans would come to the orphanage and that she would eventually join the ranks of the older children to take care of the rest. She had stopped wearing pigtails when she had to learn to tie and braid the hair of the children.

But there were no children for her to take care of, not where she was going. So Marinette tied the ribbons in her hair, and with one last adjustment of her cap, began slowly making her way towards the fork in the road.

To the left was the fish factory. And to the right, St. Peterburg.

Marinette paused. Shaking slightly, she felt for the silver ring she always kept on her person. It was too big for her slim fingers, but just holding it in her hand made her feel warm. That person, that special and distant person, must have given this ring to her. That person must have loved her before. But that person was in the past, and Marinette had to go left. If she went left, she would always be Marinette, a poor orphan girl without a surname or family, and with few hopes for the future. If she went left, she had only visits to the orphanage to look forward to along with long hours at the fish factory. She knew exactly what was in store for her if she went left.

But if she went right...

But if she went right.

_Together in Paris._

“If only someone could send me a sign,” she said to herself. But the world was white and silent, and she started to walk left, still touching the silver ring.

Then: “Meow.”

Marinette whirled around, ears perked. She loved cats, and it wasn't difficult to find the long-haired red tortoiseshell cat staring down at her from a tree. She was surprised to see it there, considering how cold it was, but she went to the tree and began to click her tongue, stretching out a hand. “Here, kitty.”

The cat's eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. “I think you should go right.”

Marinette gave a little shriek and leaped back. “Cat!”

“Yes, I'm a cat. You're very observant.”

“Cat! Talking! To me!”

The cat arched its back, stretching, and said, “Catch.”

Marinette only had a second to react before the cat jumped straight into her arms. “Ah!” She stumbled back a bit before reclaiming her balance with an armful of cat, and she forced herself to calm down. “A cat just talked to me. A cat just talked to me and told me to catch it. A _cat—!_

“You wanted a sign, didn't you?”

Clearly the cat wasn't going to give Marinette time to adapt to the situation. So she resigned herself and answered, “I didn't actually think there was going to be a sign.”

“Well, now you have one. I think you should go right, Marinette.”

“And how do you know my name?”

“I just do,” the cat said. “My name is Tikki. Pleased to meet you. Now about going right, I think you should get going before the day ends. St. Petersburg can be dangerous at night, especially for a young lady such as yourself.”

“Tikki,” Marinette said. It was a nice name. “You think I should go right?”

“I've been saying that,” Tikki replied patiently. She jumped from Marinette's arms onto a dry patch of ground. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain from going right.”

“You're very smart for a cat.”

“All cats are smart.” The cat smiled mysteriously, and then changed the topic. “Do you believe in reincarnation, Marinette?”

“You mean previous lives?”

“Yes.”

Marinette held her cold fingers to her flushed cheeks. “I don't know.” In a way, she _had_ been reincarnated. Only she was trying to get some semblance of her past life back. But like in reincarnation, there was no way to truly return to her past. She could only do her best to find traces of it in order to move on with her future.

The cat seemed to have heard her thoughts, for she nodded and said, “It's best to focus on the present and the future, instead of dwelling in the past.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Tikki?”

“I not only believe, I remember. I was a ladybug in my last life.”

“A ladybug?”

Tikki suddenly seemed melancholy. “Ladybugs do not live for very long. And I had a particularly short life.” Her voice then became more cheerful. “Well, I've had a good life so far as a cat. I think I would make a much better companion now as a cat than as a ladybug.”

“Companion?”

“I'm coming with you, you sweet girl.”

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir liked himself, even if he didn't always like what he had to do in order to survive.

Adrien didn't like himself, and he especially didn't like what Chat had to do in order to survive. But Adrien was lost somewhere in the past, stuck between the inscrutable gaze of his father and the affectionate eyes of his childhood friends, and he realized then that he had been wearing a mask ever since then.

He felt it the day when he was legitimized as Gabriel Agreste's heir and Chloe, his oldest and dearest friend at that time, had kissed him on the cheek and blinked coyly as if their friendship no longer mattered. _(I was only ten.)_ He felt it when he was forced to have the servants turn Nino away from the door because his father had left no room in his schedule for his friends. _(I was only ten.)_ He felt it when he was taken to Russia, away from Paris, and was told that he ought to make himself a companion to one of the royals if possible. _(I was only ten.)_ He felt it the day he made his first social appearance and smiled so charmingly that even the most bitter young lady at the ball had blushed and agreed to a dance.

_(I was only ten.)_

Why couldn't he enjoy the freedom that he already had, the freedom that came with privilege and wealth? Why did he feel so trapped? Sometimes he was sure that others would see through him any second, and he would have his father's disapproval to answer to. That would have been a relief, but it would have also been another kind of burden.

He was tired of smiling.

 

* * *

 

The auditions weren't as bad as Nino thought they would be.

They were worse.

As Chat Noir locked up the old theatre, Nino crumpled the list with crossed-out names and thrust it into his bag. “That's it, Adrien,” he declared, ready to wash his hands of the whole affair. “We have the tickets, we have the knowledge, and we have the mysterious earrings that will somehow convince the Empress that we have the real deal. What we're missing is someone to pretend to be the real deal.”

“She's out there somewhere, Bubbler.”

“Don't call me Bubbler.”

Chat Noir slung an arm around Nino's neck. He was surprisingly optimistic despite having watched over a dozen women attempt and fail to audition as the Grand Duchess Marie. Perhaps he was just that confident in the training the girl would receive under their care, and that confident in the earrings doing most of the work. Probably both, Nino reasoned. “I bet she's right under our noses. We just have to keep looking.”

“We're never going to find her,” Nino grumbled. “Let's just call the whole plan off.”

“Nino, pal. Buddy. _Comrade._ ”

He wrinkled his nose. “Adrien. Stop that.”

Chat Noir raised his hands in surrender. “Look, let's get some dinner and head back to the palace. We'll have auditions again tomorrow. We just need some time to sit on this and wait for the right girl to show up. We're not due to leave yet for a few more days, so think on it, all right?”

The last thing Nino wanted was to think about this plan any longer. The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. But he would be lying if he said that he didn't want to try leaving St. Petersburg for good, and he had a feeling that this plan would put Adrien at ease once and for all, if only to finally get rid of those earrings. He had a strong feeling that Adrien wanted to be free of those earrings, and it seemed that he wanted to be free of them properly instead of selling them or using them in another scheme.

Maybe Adrien would finally leave Chat Noir behind if he could leave those earrings behind as well.

So against his better judgment, Nino jerked his head at Chat Noir and followed him on the path to the old palace. “You're buying dinner.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Bubbler.”

 

* * *

 

St. Petersburg was gloomy and bleak.

It was also buzzing with rumors of some possibly surviving princess. Marinette barely paid any attention to the rumors; as an orphan, she had been much more invested in getting her next meal or in caring for the younger children back in the orphanage, and it didn't seem to matter who was in charge. Be it the royal family or the Communists, Marinette brushed past Comrade after Comrade with only one thought in mind: _I need to get to Paris._ No war or depression or possibly-alive-but-also-possibly-dead Russian princess was going to get in her way.

“That's the spirit, Marinette,” Tikki whispered from inside her coat.

“Shhh.” Marinette glanced around as she waited in line. She smiled nervously at the older woman behind her who was peering quizzically at her coat. “I only have enough money to buy one ticket.”

“I don't think cats qualify for a seat anyway.”

“Next!”

Marinette hastily shut her coat, ignoring Tikki's wriggling, and stepped up to the booth. “One ticket to Paris, please,” she said.

The attendant barely looked at her. “Exit visa.”

“Exit visa?” Marinette panicked. She wasn't entirely sure what a visa was, but she was certain that she didn't have one. “I-I'm sorry, but I don't—”

The attendant finally looked at her, but he was scowling so heavily that she took a step back. Apparently this wasn't the first time he had handled this situation. “No exit visa? Then no ticket!” And he abruptly slammed the shutters of the window booth in her face. Marinette felt cold looking at the closed booth, and she began to turn away, feeling every bit the naive and timid eighteen-year-old that she was.

But the older woman who had been behind her in line tugged at her sleeve. “See Chat Noir.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you need papers, see Chat Noir at the old palace.”

“Chat Noir,” Marinette said slowly. “Chat Noir is a person?”

“Yes, he can help you. But you didn't hear about that from me, eh?” The woman winked conspiratorially, and then left to join another line before Marinette could ask any follow-up questions. She didn't think she would have gotten any more information anyway, so Marinette opened up her coat so that Tikki's head could poke out.

“What do you think, Tikki? Shall we go find this Chat Noir and see if we can get to Paris after all?”

“You're planning to go find him no matter what I say, aren't you?”

“What other choices do I have?”

She had to ask for directions from several people, but at least the old palace was easy enough to find once she got started. No one else could or would give her confirmation that someone was living in the old palace, and Marinette stood outside for a long while, trying to make up her mind. The old palace was beautiful on the outside, a symbol of a past not so long ago, but it also looked desolate and empty. Still, she circled the palace a few times before finding boarded-up entrances that she easily broke through, and she held her breath as dust flew in the air.

“How lovely,” Tikki commented, freed from the coat and exploring as she pleased.

Marinette had to agree, even if the palace had already been looted and was now covered in dust. None of that took away from the palace's old splendor, kept intact by the elaborate carpets and portraits that were left behind. She trailed her fingers over some discarded silverware, smiling wryly as her fingers left streaks in the dust, and followed Tikki as she came into what appeared to be a ballroom.

“Such richness,” she murmured as she descended down the stairs to the floor. Tikki watched as she did, the tip of her tail twitching.

In another life, Marinette might had dreamed of becoming a fashion designer for the royal family and the aristocracy. She stood in the middle of the floor and began to slowly spin in place, lost in thought. The lost princess, or the Grand Duchess Marie as the comrades of St. Petersburg had called her, would have grown up with such grandeur. She would have debuted on this floor, or in another ballroom just as splendid, and she would have worn jewels in her hair as she danced with the eligible bachelors in the palace. She would have grown up without a care in the world, and Marinette would have been contented just to know that her designs had reached even the beloved princess.

But even that was nothing but a lofty dream. A pipe dream now, since the royal family was no more, save the lonely Empress who had no family left.

_Just like me._

As she continued to spin, she shed her hat, her coat, and then her gloves. And, very briefly, she indulged in her loftiest dream yet. If she had been born into such splendor, surely she would have danced on this very floor. She would have been the one with the crown on her head, trailing silken skirts as she accepted dance after dance.

And would her father have danced with her? Would her father have looked at her with warm eyes and kissed her on the forehead, murmuring that she had grown up so much? Would he have handed her off to the next man, both sad and overjoyed at her growth?

Marinette abruptly stopped her spinning and crouched down on the floor, covering her face. The illusion shattered.

She wasn't the Grand Duchess Marie. And even if she were, she would never have that shimmering dream as her family would be dead and the royal family defunct. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain from going to Paris, and there was no use in dwelling on what-ifs. She had to find Chat Noir.

“Hey!”

She shot up from her position.

A young man was hurrying down the stairs on the other side of the ballroom. He looked faintly annoyed, even hostile. “Hey!”

She knew that she shouldn't be here. There was no sign of Tikki, but she didn't have time to search for the cat. She snatched up her belongings and began to run back from where she came, but the man had gotten a head start and he soon caught up to her.

“Stop stop stop. Stop! I'm talking to you!”

Marinette stopped. She had reached the royal portrait on the wall, and she hugged close to the wall, not wanting to face the strange young man.

“Turn around, princess. Let's see who you are.”

There was no point in running. He was faster, likely stronger, and she was tired of running at this point. No matter what happened, she would find a way out of here with or without Chat Noir. So she turned around slowly, brushing loose hairs from her face as she did so.

He was a handsome young man not much older than herself, even if his pretty green eyes were narrowed with suspicion. Oh, but were those eyes widening now as he took her in? He even backed away, tilting his head as if to get a better look at her. Marinette felt exposed as he looked her up and down before suddenly grinning. Like a cat.

Like a cat?

“Are you...Chat Noir?”


	2. Journey to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do you call him Adrien?”

“Are you...Chat Noir?”

The resemblance was uncanny, made even more eerie with the royal portrait right behind the girl. He couldn't help his eyes darting back and forth, from the painted face of a young Marie Dupain-Cheng to the face of the girl right in front of him. She looked exactly like an eighteen-year-old Marie, from the hairstyle to the eyes to the slight frame. He felt his heart beat faster in spite of himself, but he had to be professional. She knew the name he went by, so there was something she wanted from him. He had leverage. This couldn't get any better.

Nino came thumping down, his glasses askew. They had heard noises from where they were eating, and they had assumed that a few rowdy teenagers or homeless had entered the palace. This wouldn't be the first time that people had broken in, either seeking shelter or seeking them specifically.

But the universe might as well have handed this girl to them on a silver platter. Of course, her appearance didn't mean that she would play the part successfully, but Chat Noir doubted that they would find another girl with a more uncanny resemblance.

“Nino, do you see what I see?” he whispered, nudging his best friend.

“No?” Nino's glasses were still askew, and he was squinting warily at the girl, who was inching away from them.

“Don't move, princess,” Chat Noir ordered, causing her to freeze. Then he adjusted Nino's glasses for him and had the pleasure of watching Nino's face light up as he saw the girl for who she looked like.

“I can't believe there's someone who looks so much like her.”

“We can't screw this up,” Chat Noir hissed, and then came forward. “I'm Chat Noir, princess. And you are?”

She relaxed her position, but only a little. She couldn't be any older than eighteen. “I'm Marinette. I was told that you're the man I should see if I need travel papers, although I'm not supposed to tell you who I heard that from.”

“Travel papers,” Chat Noir repeated, his mind racing. “Where do you plan on going?”

“I want to go to Paris.”

“You want to go to Paris?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow. “You're a little copycat, aren't you?”

Nino quickly interceded before Chat Noir could get worked up. “Tell us a bit about yourself, Marinette,” he said, adopting a kindly smile to put her at ease. “We can help you, but we generally like to get to know the people we help.”

“Oh!” She couldn't help but smile back at Nino's disarming kindness. “Well, what do you want to know? And you are?”

“Nino. I'm Chat Noir's associate. First off, do you have a last name?”

She bit her lip and looked down at her feet. “I don't think you'll believe me.”

_Unless you actually claim to be the the last living Dupain-Cheng, I'll believe anything._ But as cynical as Nino was, he genuinely wanted to help this girl, so he was quick to say, “Try me. It can't be any crazier than what I've been hearing all day.” Chat Noir cleared his throat at this, as if to remind Nino not to reveal too much.

One last strange glance at Chat Noir, and Marinette said shyly, “I, um, I don't have a last name. I was in an orphanage for ten years, and I don't remember anything about my past before that.”

“Nothing at all?” Chat Noir came forward eagerly.

“Well, hardly anything.” Marinette had started fiddling with her belongings, more specifically with something in one of her coat pockets, as if she was lying about something significant. No matter; this was exactly what Chat Noir had wanted to hear. Someone without a past would be the perfect person to mold into the Grand Duchess Marie, and this Marinette would be better off as a princess impersonator than as a lowly orphan cast to the streets. They would be doing both her and the Empress a favor, so long as neither found out about the plan. Nino wasn't going to like deceiving this girl, but the plan already involved deceiving the sole surviving member of the immediate royal family. Deceiving an orphan girl was the least Chat Noir would do to leave St. Petersburg.

“The thing is, we happen to have three tickets to Paris right now,” Chat said smoothly. Out of the corner of his mouth, “Nino, the tickets.”

“You do?”

The hope in Marinette's eyes was heartbreaking. It was going to be so easy to manipulate her. As Nino handed over the tickets, Chat Noir held them carefully so that Marinette wouldn't see that they were actually tickets to the circus. Extremely old tickets to the circus, in fact. “The problem is,” he continued, waving the tickets as Marinette hesitantly moved closer, “that two of these tickets are for me and my good friend here, and the third is for the Grand Duchess Marie.”

“You have a ticket for the lost princess?”

She was too polite to ask why, but the question was in her eyes. Chat Noir signaled for Nino to follow his lead. They had done this before, although not with this specific setup. He took Marinette by one elbow and began leading her down the line of royal portraits. “You see, we're planning to reunite the Grand Duchess with her remaining family in Paris, the Empress.”

Nino flanked Marinette's other side. “There's a very strong resemblance. Has anyone ever told you that you look like her?”

“She has the eyes—”

“The Dupain-Cheng eyes—”

“Tom's chin—”

“And look,” Nino took hold of Marinette's hand, doing his best to ignore her squeak of surprise, “she even has the hands of the Empress of Russia.”

“So what do you say, princess?” Chat Noir said just as they stopped before the portrait of the Empress and Marie, the only one without other members of the family. “Do you think that you might be royalty, that you might be the Grand Duchess Marie?”

The Empress and the little girl—the Grand Duchess Marie—were holding hands in the portrait. Marinette thought that she could see some similarities as she examined the little girl's painted blue eyes and dark hair, her childish features and her thin arms. But this girl had existed ten years ago, and while the coincidence was strange, Marinette knew that plenty of orphans had been born of the revolution.

“I don't know,” she admitted, still fixated on the portrait. “I suppose every girl has dreamed of being a princess at least once, but that doesn't mean I am one.” She colored a bit as she remembered how she had done exactly that, that she had just dreamed of being the lost princess on the dance floor.

But Chat Noir was persistent. He knew that he wasn't going to find anyone else who looked nearly as much as Marie, at least not in Russia, and this girl needed another push. “You don't know what happened to you ten years ago.”

Nino chimed in, “And no one knows what happens to her.”

“You're looking for your family in Paris.”

“And her last family is in Paris.”

The girl still stalled. Chat Noir wanted to roll his eyes and throw his arms up into the air. They were offering this girl a chance to be the Grand Duchess Marie. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to pretend to be royalty, or believe that they were royalty in her case? He was about to turn away and try the “If you really think you aren't her, then good luck with that, we'll just walk off and wait for you to change your mind” trick when Nino grabbed his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Nino—”

“Shhh, she's changing her mind. Just wait.”

Sure enough, Marinette lifted her head just a moment after, and said haltingly, “If...and I'm just saying if, but if I'm really the Grand Duchess Marie, the Empress would know that, right?”

“Of course she would,” Chat Noir latched onto Marinette's words, seeing where she was going. “This is her last living relative. Of course a mother would recognize her own child.”

“And if I'm not the Grand Duchess Marie, she would know and it would just be an honest mistake, right?”

The plan hinged on the Empress _not_ knowing whether or not this Marinette was the real Marie, but Chat Noir wasn't about to tell her that, not when he was so close to getting this girl on their side. “That's right, and you'll still end up in Paris, one way or another.”

“R-right!” Marinette dropped her belongings and shook Chat Noir's hand, beaming. “Then let's go to Paris!”

“Meow.”

“AH!”

Chat Noir jumped about a foot in the air, and the red tortoiseshell cat blinked at him. While the three of them had been occupied, the cat had stolen into the room and rubbed herself against Chat Noir's leg, much to his shock.

“Tikki!” Marinette opened her arms and the cat jumped into them, purring smugly.

“That's your cat?” Nino pushed his glasses up, looking at it with an admiring eye. “Isn't she a gorgeous one?”

“Where have you been this whole time?” Marinette scolded.

Chat Noir had recovered, but he was glaring at the cat. “The cat is not coming with us.”

Marinette's first response was to agree automatically. Comrade Damocles never punished the children if they disobeyed direct orders, but Marinette knew that the real world would not be so forgiving. She had tried to set a good example for the younger children, complying and making sure to keep her head down whenever possible, and she was about to do the same when she remembered that she was supposed to be a princess. Princesses were bound to comply and keep their heads down as well, but not in the same way as mere orphans. And Tikki...

One look into Tikki's eyes, and Marinette understood what she had to do.

“The cat stays,” Marinette said firmly, “and if you think that I'm the Grand Duchess Marie, you better start treating me like royalty.”

The two men stared at her for so long that Marinette began to think that she had overstepped her boundaries. She was just about to apologize before Nino broke the silence, looking more amused than offended. “She's got a point,” he conceded, with a pointed look at Chat Noir.

Chat Noir grumbled. “I think one cat is enough for this journey.”

“Two, to keep you in check.”

“Shut it, Bubbler.”

Tikki's eyes sparkled, and Marinette stared down at the cat in her arms, confused by Tikki's silence. But she soon put it out of her mind. Paris was within her grasp, and she might even find her family in one fell swoop. As Chat Noir and Nino began to discuss travel arrangements, Marinette put her coat back on and felt for the silver ring in the pocket.

_Together in Paris._

No one noticed the black butterfly fluttering away from the room.

 

* * *

 

It was one of his black butterflies.

Ten years had passed since Hawk Moth had seen any of his butterflies, although he hadn't expected to. The curse was complete, although he was still sentient in some sort of purgatory. With the curse complete, he had lost the pink butterfly brooch, the symbol of his contract, and he should have lost his powers as well. But here was a butterfly, resting gently in front of him, and moreover, it had his brooch. He had sold his soul for this power, and with the completion of the curse, his soul should have gone to the higher powers along with the brooch. Unless...

Unless the curse wasn't complete.

“Come,” he said, stretching out a hand. The butterfly fanned its wings once, twice, three times before landing softly on his finger. He stroked its body and let the images from the butterfly flow into his mind, only to crumple the butterfly in his fist as a familiar face appeared.

It was that girl. It was that scrawny, spoiled little girl. She had escaped him ten years ago, on that snowy night on a frozen lake. It was because of her that he had ended up here. If he had finished the job years ago—if she had finished the job _for_ him years ago—

He opened his hand. The black butterfly was gone, but the brooch remained. He had his brooch again.

And with his brooch, he could finally complete the curse and be rid of the Dupain-Cheng family once and for all.

He conjured up an image of the girl as he fastened the brooch about his neck once more. How far she had fallen, wearing such ragged clothes and with such ragged company. They were boarding a train, and as he watched her look around her surroundings with wide blue eyes, he thought that he would thoroughly enjoy wringing the innocence out of her body.

The black butterflies materialized from his thought, and with a single breath, he sent them after Marie Dupain-Cheng.

 

* * *

 

The first mistake was the marriage between Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng in the first place. The Russians were suspicious of the foreign tsarina, with her dark hair and almond eyes. It didn't matter that she was kindly and good-hearted, for what was kindness and a good heart when she appeared to refuse to assimilate? The Russians scorned her silken clothes, the flowers she wore in her hair, the way she couldn't hide the crinkling of her nose at certain foods. They scorned her isolation from the people, never caring that she had come alone to a strange land with strange customs and strange people. They cared only that she had come _from_ a strange land with strange customs and strange people, and they shunned her for supposedly corrupting the good-natured tsar, Tom Dupain.

As kind and good-hearted as Sabine Cheng was, she could not continue friendless. So the mystic Hawk Moth crept into her heart, and the Dupain-Cheng family foolishly welcomed him as a holy man into their presence and their palace.

That was their second mistake. Afterward, there was no going back.

Sabine stared out of her window, where she could see the Eiffel Tower. It was a magnificent view, one that cost money, but money didn't mean anything to Sabine anymore. The money had never mattered, along with titles and prestige, but she would gladly use it if it could return her daughter to her. Her daughter and the rest of her family had paid for her mistakes, and she was tired of regretting and repenting.

When Tom had banished Hawk Moth...but no, Sabine never dwelled on that night if she could help it. She had to look forward. She had to grasp at every possibility that Marie was still alive, even if she was only chasing dead ends. She had to, or she would never forgive herself.

At what point did it become self-flagellation?

Sabine covered her face and shuddered. If she wasn't careful, all of this would stop being about Marie. It wasn't about making up for the past or about punishment. It was about Marie, her beloved daughter. Her little ladybug.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

Tomorrow was a new day, and there was a new girl claiming to be her daughter. Sabine's heart was weary and weak, but she was determined to see this through to the very end. Even if she was only chasing dead ends, she couldn't shake the thought that Marie had somehow survived, from the day Sabine had foolishly let go of her hand.

 

* * *

 

“Sit up straight, princess,” Chat Noir commanded. When she didn't do so immediately, he slid a hand behind her back and gently lifted her into a better sitting position. “Don't slouch. You're the Grand Duchess Marie Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette squirmed when he finally withdrew his hand. “But I don't know that for certain.”

“Either way, having the correct posture will help you go far in life,” Nino pointed out without looking up from whatever he was doing. He appeared to be laboriously copying something, but he had refused to let Marinette take a peek, no matter how much she pouted or demanded in her best “I am a princess and I am used to giving orders” voice. Marinette would have been more suspicious, considering how she had been led to find Chat Noir and Nino in the first place, but Tikki was sleeping peacefully by Nino's side. Surely someone who was liked by cats couldn't be so bad?

Speaking of cats, Marinette could feel Chat Noir's green eyes gazing intently at her. More often than not, he would glance away if she tried to meet his gaze, but this time, he winked instead, causing Marinette to snort in a very unladylike fashion.

“Don't snort,” he chided, keeping his tone serious despite the teasing smirk tugging on his lips. “You're the Grand Duchess Marie Dupain-Cheng. You should get used to being hit on by gorgeous young men.”

“I'm going to need a different young man to hit on me, then.”

Both Marinette and Chat Noir looked expectantly at Nino. He flipped over the page he was working on, stroked Tikki once, and ignored the two of them as he continued writing.

Chat Noir flexed an arm triumphantly. “Looks like you're stuck with me.”

She groaned. “I'm going to the bathroom.”

She left the train compartment and shut the door behind her for good measure. She had never been on a train before and she was enjoying the ride, but she was starting to get nervous about meeting the Empress of Russia. Though her position was no longer influential, the Empress of Russia had seen the horrors of the revolution and had outlived the remainder of her family. Would this woman welcome her at all, regardless of her true identity? Suppose also that Marinette wasn't the Grand Duchess Marie. What would become of her then? She would be in Paris, a definite step up from being an orphan in Russia, but how would she find her family in the first place? Marinette hadn't considered any steps beyond getting to Paris in the first place, and she wondered if she had been too naive about surviving on her own.

The ring in her pocket was her only clue, but it wasn't much of a clue either. It had no distinguishing seals, crests, or marks.

The only way to find her family was to recover some of her lost memories. Even a single memory would help, but Marinette had gone ten years without remembering much of anything. Soft touches, gentle words, robust laughter. Someone as strong and memorable as the sun.

Chat Noir's green eyes flashed in her mind, and she shook her head. She kept strolling past the other compartments, lost in her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Chat Noir leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “So?”

“I'm almost done,” Nino said, concentrating carefully. He tickled Tikki with his quill for a moment, smiling at the dozing cat. “Do me a favor and go check the other passengers. This government has a nasty habit of changing their papers a little too often for my liking.”

“Will do, Bubbler.”

“Where's Chat Noir?” Marinette asked only a few minutes later, looking around the compartment.

“He went out. He'll be back soon.”

“Oh.” She sat down across from Nino. Tikki still seemed to be sleeping, although Marinette thought that she saw a blue eye quickly close once she looked at the cat. Nino didn't seem interested in making conversation, but Marinette found questions spilling from her mouth anyway. “How long have you known Chat Noir?”

Nino put down his quill and began to shuffle the papers in his hand. He didn't mind Marinette's curiosity, and was even entertained by it. “Let's just say that I've known Adrien long enough to be considered his best and only friend.”

“Why do you call him Adrien?”

“The same reason why he calls me the Bubbler sometimes.”

“So why...?”

“It's to remind him that he was someone else once. That he is still that someone else. Whenever we gain a new identity, it's just an addition to the ones we already have. It may make the past less relevant, but it can never erase the past.”

“Adrien,” Marinette said to herself. “Adrien. He looks like an Adrien.”

“It would be better if you didn't use that name too.”

“Would he get angry?”

“Yeah. He only lets me get away with it because we've been friends for so long.”

“Was he different before? As Adrien?”

“He's not the same person he once was, but he's not as different as he likes to think. He's not a bad guy, you know, just someone who went through some bad times.”

“How does he know so much about the Grand Duchess?”

“We both know quite a bit. We make it our business to know.”

Marinette didn't think that Nino was telling her the whole truth. There was something about the way Chat Noir guided her, the way that he dispensed his advice with confidence. It was almost as if he really had intimate knowledge of the royal family, and of Marie Dupain-Cheng in particular. Either that, or he had something personal at stake in helping her learn more about the lost princess. It was evident in the way he looked at her and the way he talked to her, even in the way he was holding her at an arm's distance. Why else would he flirt so shamelessly at times, and look so grave otherwise?

Marinette sighed a little and settled back in her seat.

It would be nice if Nino and Chat Noir could find what they were looking for in Paris as well.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir knew that this was going to be a balancing act. Anyone who had met Marie Dupain-Cheng had met a precocious and mischievous little girl who cared little for appearances and decorum. An eighteen-year-old Marie needed to reflect that, but she wasn't a little girl any longer. Appearances and decorum had more weight now, and as he remembered Marinette's nervous posture and fidgeting, he thought that this wasn't going to be as easy as he had claimed to Nino. Manners and public speaking would be easy enough to teach; self-confidence, not so much. But he couldn't afford to share his thoughts with Nino, much less Marinette. Nino had done too much for him already, so it was up to Chat Noir to get them out of Russia for good. And Marinette...

Marinette was only a shadow of Marie. He would have to make her more than a shadow.

Two elderly women were standing outside of a compartment, their heads bent low together over their papers. Chat Noir shook off some tension in his shoulders, forced the corners of his mouth up, and sauntered over. As he debated whether or not to flirt, he heard their muttering, “Last week the papers were in blue.”

“But now they're red.”

“This government,” the first woman huffed.

Alarmed, Chat Noir craned his neck and saw indeed that the women's papers were in red. He sped back to the compartment and hastily went inside, noticing that Marinette was snoozing next to Tikki and Nino was looking at him quizzically. He didn't want to say too much in front of Marinette, even if she was sleeping, but time was of essence.

“They're in red now.”

“What?”

“In red, not blue.”

“What—oh. Oh, no.” Nino stared down at their papers, the papers he had just forged in _blue,_ and swallowed a few choice words that were rising in his throat.

“We have to go to the baggage cart.”

“Right, right.” Nino stuffed the now-useless papers inside his shirt and hastily began to collect their belongings.

Chat Noir bent over Marinette and shook her shoulder. “Wait up, princess. We need to get going.”

Blue slits looked accusingly at him. “I heard what you said. The baggage cart?”

She had been awake, then, at least for the last minute. There would be time for explanations later, although he would have to be creative with this one, and he took her hand and pulled her into a sitting position. “Talk less, move more. Come on, get your stuff. And I'm warning you, there's no way that I'm going to move your cat, so you better grab hold of her if you still want her to come along.”

“Impatient kitty,” Marinette murmured, rubbing the sleeping from her eyes.

“Meow.”

Still a little dazed, Marinette shrugged her coat on and scooped Tikki into her arms, nearly tripping over her feet as she hastened to keep up with Chat Noir and Nino. They were moving quickly past the other compartments and as they moved through the carts, Marinette began to realize exactly what Nino had been doing with his secret scribbling and why they suddenly had to leave.

She wondered if it was too late to back out. But in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

The baggage cart was cold and filled with unwelcoming wooden crates. Chat Noir, however, gave a satisfied stretch after setting down the suitcases he had been heaving. “Purr-fect,” he said, after a particularly loud crack of his spine. Nino seemed less enthused and was rubbing his hands together, breathing on them every now and then. Marinette found a nice corner away from the wind, and began to set Tikki on her lap.

“Marinette,” Tikki whispered. “Marinette. There's something outside of the train.”

“You mean the wind? Or the snow?”

“No, something evil.” The cat shivered and began to pace. “We need to get out of here.”

“Tikki, we're in the baggage cart. Short of jumping out of the train, there's nowhere we can go.”

“Then we need to jump out of the train.”

“Wait, now?”

“Now!”

Before Marinette could protest any further, there was a loud screeching sound, and everyone was thrown back as the baggage cart jostled on the tracks. Marinette raised herself and looked back at the connecting carts, only to see that they had been disconnected and they were the sole cart left joined with the train engine. Something pink and black fluttered out of the corner of her eye, but before she could focus on it, Chat Noir pulled her to her feet.

“We need to get out of here,” he said urgently.

“There goes the dining cart,” Nino lamented, even as he stumbled around looking for anything useful.

“You should be more worried about us,” Chat Noir snapped.

“I think we have something else to be more worried about,” Marinette said slowly. When the two men rounded on her, she pointed at the head end of the train so that they could very obviously see that the front of the train was on fire.

It was Nino who finally gave in and said, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REALIZE THE TRUTH ALREADY.
> 
> Oh wait...


	3. Learn to Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Adrien Agreste fell in love.

Ten years.

Ten years ago, he was ten years old.

Ten years ago, he was ten years old when he met Ladybug for the first time.

The memory was burned into his mind. The field of golden flowers, where she stood with her back against the sun. Her white dress, slightly stained. The ribbons in her hair and the blue of her eyes. And her smile. Her smile. Adrien thought that he could have died the first time he saw her smile, and his life would have had meaning still.

Ten years ago, he fell in love. It was an old memory now, an old memory of a first love that he clung onto, desperate for any relics of a time when he had been innocent and she had been innocent. They would have died from their innocence, and she _had_ died. Adrien had died as well.

Ten years.

Ever since then, he had been chasing her shadow.

“Stop!”

He stopped, although he looked left and right for the source of the voice. Instead, he felt a gentle hand tap his back.

“Don't move.”

Those were words he had heard many times before, but the gentle touch of that hand and the softness of the voice were what kept him still. He watched as a slender girl crouched in front of him, cupping her hands around something. He bent to take a closer look, and saw a hint of red. “A ladybug?” Then he properly looked at the girl and nearly fell on his back. It was Marie, the youngest of the Dupain-Cheng family. She had white ribbons in her hair and a streak of dirt across her cheek, but he was fixated on the surprisingly tender expression on her face. He had never seen such an expression on someone so young before.

“Bye bye, little ladybug,” she said, and blew gently on the ladybug. It flew off and left the two children behind in the field of golden flowers. Then she turned to him, blinking at his gaping mouth. “Who are you? I didn't think anyone else knew about this field.”

Now this Adrien was more familiar with. His father had been more interested in Adrien charming older women, specifically mothers of potential brides, but he had charmed young girls before. “I'm Adrien,” he said, smiling reflexively and holding out a hand. “Adrien Agreste. I'm here with my father.”

She looked at him with such wide blue eyes. “I can't shake your hand,” she said solemnly. As Adrien lowered his, a little stung by her rejection, she continued, “My hand's all dirty, see?” She spread slim pale fingers before his eyes, and he bit back a laugh. The Grand Duchess Marie was too polite to shake his hand because of a little dirt? He didn't even deserve to be standing on the same ground with her, but here she was. Here they were.

“I don't mind,” he said, finding that he meant it. Never mind her status, or his status. He offered his hand again.

This time she smiled. She smiled at him, showing a gap in her teeth where one had fallen out. She was so young and so fragile—the field and the golden flowers threatened to swallow her. The sun was setting on her hair and her pure white dress, so she glowed.

She was beautiful.

“I'm Marie,” she said, taking his hand. “Marie Dupain-Cheng.”

_I know,_ he thought, but didn't say. “Your Highness—”

The smile vanished and she pouted. “Don't call me that. I'm just Marie!”

He couldn't possibly call the Grand Duchess by her first name. His father would have his head if he knew. Or maybe Gabriel Agreste would actually give him a pat on the back for getting so close to the Grand Duchess in the first place, never mind that he had been talking to her for all of two minutes. But formalities existed for a reason. “I can't, Your Highness. It would be improper.” See, he knew the right words to say, but clearly they were the wrong words as she continued to pout at him.

“You can't just call me Marie?”

“I-I'm sorry.”

She turned away from him, huffing. He was seized by fear, wondering if she had gotten bored of him, but then she looked back with those wide blue eyes, beaming again. “Then call me Ladybug!”

“Ladybug?”

“That's what my family calls me. I'll call you Adrien, and you'll call me Ladybug.” Still holding his hand, she led him deeper and deeper into the fields. “Come on, I'll show you my favorite hiding spot.”

His first thought was to pull his hand back and to run away from her, from her wide blue eyes and gentle touch. But he was helpless before that smile, and he let himself be dragged through the golden flowers without a care for his appearance or his father. None of that mattered in the face of the golden sunset, the cool fresh air, and the young girl who upended his day without any reservations. Nothing mattered for those few precious moments, and if he had only known what was to come, he would have treasured those moments even more.

For the first time in his life, Adrien Agreste fell in love.

 

* * *

 

Quick as a cat, Chat Noir nimbly moved his way on top of the moving train, straining his eyes to see past the fire and snow. The fire burned—there was no way anyone was still heading the train. Yet he listened intently for any signs of life, difficult as it was to hear in the rushing wind, and he even dared to creep closer.

No one was driving the train. This had to have been a set-up. But for what reason?

His was not to reason why. He made his way back even more carefully, and met the anxious eyes of Nino and Marinette.

“No one else is on this train,” he confirmed.

Marinette had gathered Tikki into her arms, but her blue eyes were darting all over the baggage cart. “Is there no other way to stop the train?”

Set-up or not, they had paid fairly for their tickets even if their papers were bogus. Chat Noir opened his mouth, about to say something along the lines of how they could just ride the train until it reached the end of their destination, when a large explosion in the distance caught their attention. Chat Noir could have sworn that he saw something strange about the explosion, something about the shape resembling a shadowy black butterfly, but it must have been the residual smoke. Either way, the train was rapidly approaching a bridge that the explosion had wrecked into pieces. They were going to crash into their deaths if they didn't get off of the train soon.

To his credit, Chat Noir refused to stay standing still. “Okay, new plan. We're getting off now.”

“Now?” Marinette raised an eyebrow and gestured outside, but then paused. The train's path circled a cliff, so they would either be jumping to their doom or ramming head first into the mountainside. There was a mile of flat land just before the bridge, where they could safely exit out onto the snow, but the train was moving too fast. “We have to slow the train down.”

Evidently she was thinking a few steps ahead, since Chat Noir and Nino gaped at her. “What?”

“We need to separate from the engine. Are there any tools we can use here?”

Chat Noir caught onto her plan first, and he began to root around the baggage cart, searching through the crates and boxes. He and Nino soon found a toolbox, and after a quick coin flip, Chat Noir moved to the front of the cart to balance precariously on the connected parts, wrench in hand. Meanwhile Marinette continued looking around for anything else, thinking that the wrench wouldn't last long. It wasn't long before her eyes caught onto something distinctly red.

“Lucky,” she whispered, snatching up a stick of dynamite.

The wrench failed to hold up, and Chat Noir cursed as he tossed away the broken tool. “Is there anything else we can use, Nino?”

Marinette nudged Nino, showing the dynamite to him. “Got a light?”

His eyebrows shot up above his glasses, but he obediently fumbled with his pockets for a lighter. “What do they teach in orphanages these days?”

“They taught me nothing; I know everything,” she said seriously, before cracking a grin and handing the stick to Chat Noir.

He tucked it into a crevice between the connecting parts, before hurrying over and pulling both Nino and Marinette behind a particularly tall and bulky stack of crates, Tikki right on their heels. “ You're insane,” he whispered to Marinette without any attempt to hide the fondness in his voice, and covered her ears for her. The resounding explosion made a satisfying noise, and the baggage cart began to slow, its speed interrupted as it was no longer connected to the fiery engine cart. It wasn't a moment too soon either because the train carts soon passed the cliffs and they were precariously close to the bridge.

Marinette wasted no time, scooping up Tikki as Chat Noir shook a slightly stunned Nino and began to gather their belongings. They had a clear shot at snowy flat land as they clambered to the door. “Well, here's our stop,” Marinette shouted above the noise, Tikki hidden safely beneath her coat. Holding their bags and each other's arms, they jumped into the snow and not a moment too late. Panting from adrenaline and exhaustion, they watched as the train carts went readily over the bridge and crashed, resulting in an even larger fiery explosion.

They stared for a minute longer, unable to believe they had safely escaped. Then Marinette caught Chat Noir's green eyes.

He grinned despite himself and held out a fist that she met with her own. “Well done!”

“I think I just lost five years of my life,” Nino groaned, head in the snow.

“Don't worry,” Chat Noir said confidently as he began to brush himself off. “I'm sure it was just a freak accident.”

“I don't ever want to ride a train again.”

“But we still need to get to Paris.”

“Absolutely not, Adrien!”

 

* * *

 

“Alya?” Marinette rolled the name around in her mouth. “Who's Alya?”

Chat Noir fought back a groan. Nino—silly, foolish, lovestruck Nino—had carelessly blurted out his excitement to see Alya again. He wanted to glare at the man who had started this mess, but no, he was twirling flowers around in his hands while staring out across the bridge with a lovelorn expression on his usually relaxed face. It didn't help that they were behind schedule. Since Nino had refused to ride any more trains, they had to make do with slower forms of travel, and there had been precious little time to teach Marinette anything.

And Marinette still thought that they were going to see the Empress first. Well, no time like to present to shatter her illusions. It was what he and Nino were good at, after all.

“She's a distant cousin and family friend of the Empress,” he said, mind working feverishly on damage control.

“Why are we going to see her?”

“No one gets to the Empress without meeting Alya first.”

Marinette put the pieces together quickly. “I have to convince her that I'm really the Grand Duchess Marie.”

“Purr-cisely.”

“No.”

“Princess—”

“ _No._ ”

He tried to change tactics. “Marinette—”

Marinette had been lying on her stomach on the grassy hill they were resting on, idly petting Tikki, and now she got to her feet and started to walk away. “No one said anything about having to  _persuade_ the Empress that I'm her daughter, let alone this Alya person!” She looked back at Chat Noir with a narrowed gaze. “Chat, this isn't what I signed up for. I can't do this. I shouldn't do this.”

Before he could say anything else, she sped off, but not before Nino intercepted her and managed to engage her in conversation. Chat Noir wasn't ashamed of his actions so far, and he certainly wasn't ashamed of his plan to fool the Empress, but he felt a flicker of guilt for the way Marinette had looked at him.

Yet those eyes had also judged him, and that made him bristle. No one took particular care with orphans, but at least she had an orphanage. At least she had friends there, from what it sounded like. At least she never had to scavenge the streets for resources and easy victims. She was no Grand Duchess, but whatever privilege she had made him sick to his stomach. He was reminded then of how much he had loved Marie Dupain-Cheng and how she had taken his hand without a care for his name or status. At the same time, she hadn't been in a position where name or status mattered much, when she was so above many others. He was reminded of how much he had loved her, and how much he had resented her as well.

That privilege hadn't done her much good in the end. Now he wondered if he was doing the right thing, introducing Marinette to such a world under a dead girl's name.

Even as he lost himself in his thoughts, Chat Noir was acutely aware of the glances Nino was shooting at him from the bridge. He sidled closer, wanting to hear what they were saying.

“What do you see?” Nino asked, nodding his head at the waters below the bridge.

Marinette fiddled with the rose Nino had given her. “A girl.”

“You're a woman, at least.”

“I don't feel like one. I'm still a child on the inside. There's so much I haven't experienced. Maybe this was all a bad idea.”

“Maybe it was. But look at where you are now.”

“I have no home, no family, no job. At least I had an orphanage before.”

“Maybe you need to look at this from another point of view. I see a young woman who has a cat. She's left the safety of her orphanage and the security of a job in order to find her family. I see someone who has left Russia for good. Isn't that something?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like I'm moving up in the world,” she admitted. “But what if I'm not the Grand Duchess?”

“Does it matter?”

“Doesn't it?”

“There's nothing left for you in Russia, Marinette. Wherever you go now, you make your own path. That's what Adrien and I want to do.”

She considered his words for a moment. “I suppose if being a princess doesn't work out, I could always try my hand at fashion.”

He bumped her shoulder mischievously. “Don't look now, but Adrien's listening to everything we're saying.”

“Am not!” came the automatic protest, before: “Oh.”

All traces of anger dissolved as Marinette turned toward Chat Noir, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as he approached the two of them. “Done being a sneak?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but she held out the rose as a peace offering.

He accepted the rose, slightly bemused. “Done having doubts?”

Nino was right. There was nothing left for her in Russia, besides the orphanage and the children who had bid her farewell so tearfully. But surely they would understand—she was one step closer to finding her family in Paris, and this was just another hurdle she had to overcome. With a deep breath, she turned to face Nino and Chat Noir.

“Gentlemen, start your teaching.”

 

* * *

 

There were family names to remember. Marinette doubted that an eight-year-old Marie Dupain-Cheng would have remembered every single relative and the details that Chat Noir eagerly shared, and Chat Noir understood those doubts. “Remembering every single name isn't as important as it is to remember the general family tree and your place in it,” he explained as they were hitching a ride with a farmer, sitting cross-legged on the back of his hay cart. “I'm giving you complicated names and titles, but their relation to you and some of their more well-known habits are going to be much more valuable. Think carefully about what an eight-year-old would remember.”

Then there was etiquette. “Eat neatly,” Nino admonished, handing her a napkin after a particularly messy meal. “Try not to get even a single crumb on your shirt.”

Marinette looked down at her shirt and despaired.

Horseback riding was more fun. Apparently Marie Dupain-Cheng had started horseback riding as a three-year-old, or at least according to Chat Noir, and Marinette could understand the appeal. It was difficult at first and she usually went to sleep with a sore bottom and a number of bruises, but it gave her such a rush. There was almost something familiar about being on the back of a horse, being able to see farther than usual from a different height, and to be one with an animal that was both tame and wild at the same time.

There was so much she didn't know and so much to learn. It was exhilarating.

They hitched rides and slept wherever they could get lodging for cheap. Whenever Marinette had a few free minutes, she would spend it exploring their surroundings as Nino and Chat Noir took a break. Nino preferred to take naps, stretched out on patches of grass with a hat shielding his face from the sun. Chat Noir jotted down notes and muttered occasionally to himself, no doubt keeping track of Marinette's lesson plans. Sometimes he went with Marinette because he liked to stretch his legs every so often, and Marinette got to learn more about Chat Noir and Nino too.

She learned about Chat Noir's fierce loyalty to Nino, evident from the way he spoke fondly of the other man and the rare genuine smiles that came and went like the passing wind.

She learned a little about Nino's family and how they had loved him, and how he cared for Chat Noir because Chat Noir hadn't received the same love.

She learned about Chat Noir's tendency to sleep deeply, and how Nino had gotten away with drawing on his face many a night, drawing cat whiskers more often than not.

She learned about Nino's habit of forgetting to eat whenever he was preoccupied with a new idea, and learned from Chat Noir to slip food into Nino's hands so that he would eventually put it into his mouth as he worked.

Theirs was another kind of love, one she hadn't seen before. Was this the kind of love that she felt towards that person, strong and memorable as the sun?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. She wouldn't mind though, having a Nino or a Chat Noir. Or both, which she did now and only for now.

_This is only temporary._

So she learned and ate and slept, and one day, she left the two of them bickering over some minor expenses in order to continue her daily exploration. She was compelled to follow a line of stern-looking trees until they gave way to a clearing.

It was a field of golden flowers, hidden away in the trees. She didn't recognize the flowers, and that mystery only added to the beauty of the entire scene. Marinette cupped one of the flowers and smelled it. Sweet and fragrant, like a mother's scent. Or what she believed a mother's scent should smell like. She felt the petals of the flower, examining it curiously. Her mind was racing and her fingers itched for a pencil and paper; she hadn't wanted to design anything since leaving the orphanage, and now she was conjuring the image of a golden ballgown with shimmering sleeves and a full skirt.

“There you are.”

Chat Noir never looked more in his element, surrounded by the golden flowers. As he swept his hair away from his face, he raised his head and his eyes were bright in the sun. For the first time in her life, Marinette was struck by the urge to draw the man in front of her. She had never wanted to draw people before, preferring to sketch the clothes and adding only vague body shapes for reference.

He was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, but it had been a frivolous kind of beauty before. Here, surrounded by nothing but flowers and sunshine and fresh air, he was beautiful in a much more wholesome way. He must have been beautiful like that as a child.

He must have been beautiful like that as Adrien.

“Here I am,” she said softly.

“I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

“Nino?”

“Sleeping as always. Don't worry, Tikki is guarding our sweet prince.”

She laughed, a quick and high note. “What ever will we do without them?”

He hummed in response, looking at the golden flowers. “It's been a long time since I've seen these flowers.”

“Do you know what they're called?”

It must have been a trick of light, but she swore that she saw his face darken. “No. I never bothered to find out.”

“Oh.”

Sensing the solemn atmosphere, Chat Noir forced a smile to his lips. “Tell me about yourself.”

“You don't want to hear about me,” she said, looking away.

“I'm serious.”

Marinette thought for a moment. “I like clothes.”

“Wearing them?” Eyebrow waggle.

“No! Well, I mean yes—stop it, you know I didn't mean that. I like fashion. I like styling clothes, and even designing them. There wasn't much to work with in an orphanage, so I don't know if I'm any good at it, but it made the kids happy.”

“You should keep that up.”

“Making kids happy?”

“That, but also the clothes. You have something you love, you should chase it.”

“Even if it doesn't lead me anywhere in the end?”

Green eyes lowered. “Sometimes that's why you should chase it.”

“I don't know if that's for the best.”

“So you don't want to pursue fashion?”

She shook her head, trying to frame the words in her mind. “It's not that, it's just... There's someone I haven't been able to forget, even when I lost all of my memories.”

“I have someone like that too.”

Incredulously, “You?”

“Why so surprised?”

_Because you seem like such a flirt,_ she almost said, but thought better of it. She didn't know him well enough to say that he appeared more comfortable flirting with people than anything else, even if that was the conclusion she drew from watching him. She could relate in a way; what better way was there to get on someone's good side? Compliments were easy to give and easy to accept.

Yet there was something about him, the way his mouth tightened at times and the way his green eyes would flare a little too intensely. Flirting was something he was used to, and it wasn't necessarily something he liked. It made sense that there was someone he had true feelings for, someone who caused him pain.

Marinette felt for the silver ring on instinct, unaware of Chat Noir's green eyes flaring right now, watching her every move. They stood in silence as she racked her brain for something to say. Then:

“A ladybug.”

There was some kind of childish wonder in Chat Noir's voice, something lost and confused. The ladybug, small and red, was dartingamong the flowers in stark contrast with the golden petals. Marinette watched it with wonder as well. Without thinking, she began to reach for it, only for her hand to collide with Chat Noir's.

She drew back immediately.

Chat Noir stepped back. Cleared his throat. “We're going on a ship next. Just wanted to let you know.” With one last nervous nod—so he could get nervous after all, Marinette mused—he left her in that field of golden flowers, completely alone.

Well, almost alone.

“Marinette?”

She started. “Don't scare me like that, Tikki.”

The cat wrapped a tail around Marinette's leg, peering up at her. “You're bright red.”

 

* * *

 

There were moments when Chat Noir almost believed that Marinette was as good as the real Marie Dupain-Cheng. She was awful at remembering names, not matter how he drilled her or tried to use acronyms, but she took to nearly everything else after some effort. Marie had been a graceful child; in contrast, Marinette must have grown up clumsy. She came close to hurling herself off from the horse and the bike they had acquired for her several times, although she had soldiered on until she could ride both as well as Chat Noir. It helped that animals seemed to like her, from Tikki to the horse to even stray dogs on the streets. Hers was a charm born of a combination of determination and kindness, and it would do very nicely even if it couldn't quite match the natural charisma of Marie Dupain-Cheng.

Something also softened further between him and Marinette, after that day in the field of golden flowers. He wanted to chalk it up to nostalgia, nothing more than a wistful longing to relive his first love, but he found his gaze lingering on Marinette.

The ribbons in her hair.

The slim fingers.

The wide blue eyes.

_(Marie's eyes.)_

He had bought her a dress right before they boarded the ship that would take them to Alya. He had originally planned to buy a red dress for her. Red for ladybugs, red for luck. But it was too painful imagining her in a red dress.

_Adrien!_

_Don't look back!_

She had been wearing a red dress that night. Red for ladybugs, red for luck. Red for blood.

So it was a pink dress that he held before him, agonizing over whether or not to actually give it to her. He didn't think she would refuse and if she were to somehow take offense at the style of the dress, she could easily modify it however she wished. She needed to wear something nicer in order to be presentable before Alya anyway, so it wasn't as if he had no reason to buy it. Stil he dawdled, wondering why his heart was beating so fast. It was only Marinette; he had no reason to be nervous. Right?

“I don't think pink is your color.”

“Don't be so sure. I can make anything look good,” Chat Noir responded without much heat, eyes still on the dress before him. Then he remembered.

He was alone in the ship corridor.

“Down here.”

Luminous green eyes blinked lazily as Chat Noir immediately looked down and then backed up all the way against the wall. “ _You?_ ”

“Yes.”

“You're a cat.”

“Obviously.”

“You're talking.”

The cat had been washing its face with a dark paw, and now it lowered the paw, whiskers twitching impatiently. “You're not very smart, aren't you?”

“Cats can't talk.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can pretend that you're going mad.”

Chat Noir snorted. “I'm many things, but I'm not mad.”

“You _are_ many things, but you're you before anything else. And you don't seem to like yourself, Adrien.”

“...Do I even want to ask how you know my name?”

“Plagg.”

“Plagg?”

“I know your name. Now you know mine.”

“Crazier things have happened recently,” Chat Noir reflected, momentarily forgetting that he was still alone in the corridor, talking to a black cat. “Does this have anything to do with what happened to the train?”

“You're smart after all,” was all Plagg would say on the matter. “Though not smart enough.”

“Is any of this related to Marinette?”

“Why do you think so?”

“I guess I'm just being paranoid, but there's something about her. When I'm with her, I remember the past. I remember...being Adrien.”

“I see you're still conflicted.”

“Still?”

Plagg gave him a deliberate look before going back to washing his face. “You're close to a turning point. There's a reason why I haven't shown up until now.”

“Are you some kind of guardian animal?”

“It's not as complicated you're making it out to be.” The black cat gave a yawn. “Hey, do you have any cheese?”

“Cats don't eat cheese.”

“Oh, so now you're the expert on cats?”

“Purr-haps,” Chat Noir said somewhat absently, wondering what would happen if Marinette saw him talking to a cat right now. Maybe she wouldn't care, considering how much she talked to Tikki. How much she...talked to Tikki...

“Is Tikki her guardian animal?”

Plagg didn't move. “Purr-haps.”

“It's not as funny coming from you.”

“Don't you have a dress to deliver?”

“I do.” Still Chat Noir hesitated. He could tell that Plagg wasn't revealing the big picture to him, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to know more. The black cat didn't seem to be lying, and Chat Noir usually trusted his instincts when it came to people—or creatures, in this case—but ignorance was often bliss. “Nothing bad will happen on this ship?”

Dryly, “I'm not actually an incarnation of bad luck. Neither are ladybugs incarnations of good luck.”

“I don't understand.”

“They're not as different as you would think.”

With those last cryptic words, Plagg slinked away.

 

* * *

 

She had left that summer palace with the golden fields and blue sea. It was getting too dangerous for the family to be out in the open, to be vulnerable. Adrien was called back to his father's side and he complied, playing the part of the obedient son as always, but now he strained ever more restlessly against his father's commands. He wanted to go to St. Petersburg—the city had been renamed, but it would always be St. Petersburg in his heart. That was where she was, hidden from the public's justified anger, and he entertained daydreams of breaking down the doors and whisking her away to somewhere safer. Paris wasn't necessarily safer now, but they would be together.

He was ten years old, and he thought then that he could wait forever. But he wasn't going to.

The family was still throwing parties, although it was now difficult to access them without an official invitation. Adrien lied to his father, his biggest lie yet, claiming that he had become intimate friends with Marie Dupain-Cheng and that he had been personally invited.

His father had been skeptical and rightly so. Why would an eight-year-old girl, princess or not, have any say in deciding who to invite? Adrien had also kept quiet about Marie up until now, whispering only to Nino and occasionally Chloe about a girl named Ladybug. Still, Adrien kept his smile fixed in place and refused to bow before his father's critical gaze.

Though the Dupain-Cheng family was losing power by the day, Gabriel Agreste couldn't resist the possibility of snatching any crumbs of that power.

There was a servant boy that Adrien knew, and it would be easy enough to exchange clothes and walk around the palace undetected, so long as he kept his head down. He was sure that Marie would be kept under tight watch, especially with the public so openly hostile, so he would have to use his wits to find her alone and convince her to leave with him. He was expecting some resistance; Marie loved her family, even though it was her family's fault that they were so hated now, and she would find it difficult to part with her parents in particular. Adrien would have to persist, even if it meant upsetting her. He would risk it for Marie.

For Ladybug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young love...


	4. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could he have loved Marinette if he had never met Ladybug?

“Adrien,” she breathed out. She said his name as if it was something special. As if it meant something to her. She said it softly, with those wide blue eyes looking directly at him.

She said his name as if she was saying it for the first time.

But this didn't happen out of nowhere. There was something that led to this. What was it?

This was what happened:

Chat Noir and Nino had secured the deck of the ship for themselves, or at least a small portion of it, and they were half-playing a game of chess and half-waiting for Marinette to join them. Chat Noir was frowning as he stared at the chessboard; he was losing quite badly, but he was frowning for a different reason.

Nino had insisted that Marinette take dancing lessons, although Chat Noir had been against it.

“What if your plan actually works and she's welcomed by the Empress as the Grand Duchess?” Nino had pointed out after capturing one of Chat's pawns. “She'll have to learn to dance anyway when the time comes. We might as well teach her now and make the transition easier.”

“It's more suspicious if the Empress finds out that she knew how to dance already,” Chat Noir protested.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Maybe you should just give up.”

“On playing chess?” Chat Noir surveyed the board with some despair.

“No, on hiding your feelings.”

“Feelings?”

Nino moved a rook and continued without looking at his best friend, “Your feelings for Marinette.”

There was a great deal of spluttering and coughing, and Nino waited patiently for Chat Noir's next move and his next words. “I don't have feelings for Marinette,” Chat Noir finally said after he had stopped choking on nothing. He moved a bishop, preventing Nino's follow-up move with the rook, and eyed him warily. “What made you think so?”

“Just a feeling,” came the airy answer. “The way you look at her. The way you talk to her. The way you talk _about_ her...”

Chat Noir was tempted to overturn the board and send the pieces flying. He knew that look on Nino's face. “Get to the point, Bubbler.”

Nino sobered at the nickname. “It's my mistake if I'm seeing something that isn't there. But I want to ask you something else.”

“What is it?”

Nino moved another chess piece, aware that he had sealed all of Chat Noir's moves to defend his king. “Are you sure that you're doing the right thing?” he asked quietly.

His friend was just as quiet, and the two of them listened to the sound of the waves for a long moment. Finally, Chat Noir lifted his head and moved his king, knowing full well that Nino would be able to capture him in the next turn. “It's too late to go back now,” he said. “It's best to move on, for us and for Marinette.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. There's nothing _to_ do.”

Nino sighed, just about fed up with Chat Noir's stubborn obliviousness. “Just give up, Adrien.”

“Give up on what?”

The two of them blinked at each other, and then at Marinette who had quietly sneaked up on them. Chat Noir blinked again, heart quickening. She was wearing the pink dress—the sleeves had been rolled up and she had removed some of the frills along the hem of the skirt, but other than that, she had left the garment mostly untouched. Her hair was down for once, her customary red ribbons gone.

She looked lovely.

“You look lovely,” Nino said approvingly, stealing the words out of his mouth. Perhaps that was for the best as Chat Noir felt his face heating up and he had to turn to the side, coughing discreetly.

Her smile came out, brighter than ever. “Thanks!” Then: “What should Chat Noir give up on?”

“Playing chess, since he always loses so badly.”

She considered the chessboard for a moment. “I don't know how to play, so I can't tell who is winning.”

“Want me to teach you?”

“Would this be part of my Grand Duchess training regime?”

Nino chuckled and began to put the pieces away as Chat Noir headed across the deck. “Grand Duchesses don't need to learn how to play chess, but they do need to learn how to dance. I'll teach you after Chat Noir teaches you the waltz.”

Marinette fidgeted. “Do I have to learn?”

Nino immediately launched into a long and obviously prepared speech about how a Grand Duchess would have to conduct herself, specifically at grand events. Marinette longed to interrupt him so that they could get on with the lesson already, but she found her eyes wandering to Chat Noir, who was practicing by himself a ways off on the deck. His gaze had sharpened somehow, and he was stepping carefully around the deck, arms poised to hold an invisible partner.

“So that's why,” Nino drew in a deep breath before finishing, “you need to learn how to dance.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, snapping back into attention, forgetting momentarily that she was supposed to be acting like a Grand Duchess.

Chat Noir's arms had dropped and he ambled over, green eyes alight. “Ready, princess?”

She giggled nervously, and then inwardly kicked herself for giggling. “I'm afraid that I'll step on your feet.”

“Everyone does that starting out.”

“You sound like you've had experience.”

He snorted and stretched out a hand, and when she took it, immediately pulled her closer. “There's a reason why I'm teaching you to dance instead of Nino.” He put a hand on her waist and waited for her to tentatively hold onto his shoulder. He held her other hand in a loose grip. “Okay, what do you know about the waltz?”

She tightened her grip on his shoulder, her mouth quirking inquisitively. “Nothing. When did you learn to dance?” The moment the words left her mouth, she felt rather than saw him stiffen. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he shook his head.

“I was young,” he revealed, and began to tap a beat, determined to move on. “So, waltz. Follow my lead.”

_One two three, one two three, one two three—_

“Stop, stop.” Chat Noir released his hold on Marinette. “I said to follow my lead. Try again.”

They came together again, but this time Nino stopped the two of them. “Again.”

And again, and again, and again.

She had been following Chat Noir's lead for the entire journey, but for some reason, Marinette resisted letting her body follow his movements. She looked down at her feet as she did her best to mimic Chat Noir, trying not to cry. It wasn't as if everything else had come easily to her, and she knew that if she pushed, Chat Noir and Nino would forgo the dancing lessons. She knew that in her head, yet she wanted to keep going. If she couldn't even learn to waltz, what made her think that she could find her family in Paris?

“My father wanted me to learn how to dance.”

She blinked back the tears and looked up at Chat Noir's face. He was staring above her head, refusing to meet her eyes. “Your father?”

“His name was Gabriel.”

“That's a nice name.”

Chat Noir spun her around, and he only sounded a little bitter as he said, “Well, he wasn't much of a father.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I decided not to keep anything he had given me. It's in the past.”

She put two and two together. “He named you?”

“Adrien,” he sighed. He said his name as if it was something dirty. As if it was nothing more than a burden to him. Marinette only had to turn her head to see Nino and to see the love that he had for Adrien, for Chat Noir, and she thought that even if the name was a burden to Chat Noir, it wasn't one to Nino. And it wasn't one to her.

So she said his name.

“Adrien,” she breathed out. She said his name as if it was something special. As if it meant something to her. She said it softly, with those wide blue eyes looking directly at him.

She said his name as if she was saying it for the first time.

They had stopped dancing; neither had realized that they had been dancing almost perfectly during their conversation, as if they had truly become a unified entity. Adrien couldn't help himself; he swayed towards her, inexplicably drawn to Marinette's presence. He could see her eyes widen even further before they began to flutter shut, and she leaned towards him in return. He could feel the nervous puffs of her breath on his face.

He wanted to kiss her.

_Are you sure that you're doing the right thing?_

He wanted to kiss her so badly. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Adrien straightened his stance and leaned away. “Now you can waltz,” he said somewhat hoarsely. Marinette's eyes fluttered open and those wide blue eyes had darkened in the sunset. He swallowed back his disappointment, as thick as molasses. “You're doing just fine.”

He walked away, steeling his heart and his mind. He walked away without looking back, never seeing Marinette watching his retreating figure or Nino sighing gently in the background.

Adrien walked away, because he would have to practice walking away from her.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir didn't know if Russia was better off after the revolution, but he did know that there was no going back. There was no place for a royal family, not even a nominal one. There were times when he...but no, it was pointless to wonder what Russia would have been like if the world had been more forgiving. Would the revolution have changed in any way if Ladybug had been given time to grow up? She had been the strongest and kindest person he had ever met, and she had only been a child. How would Russia have warped her if she had been given due time to gain influence?

Perhaps she was better off dead.

He had seen people die before, and had come close to dying himself a number of times. If it hadn't been for Nino, he might have died early on, and he would have died with far too many regrets for someone his age. That was the hard truth—people died the way they lived.

_How did she die?_

She would have died without fully understanding why she died. Ignorant to the very end, although not necessarily because of her own fault. She would have died stunned by such hatred in the world, that such hatred could result in the death of children barely old enough to accept the consequences of their own actions. She would have died thinking of the people she loved and the people who loved her, because that was the way Marie Dupain-Cheng had lived.

Did she die thinking about him? Did she spare even a few seconds for him?

He thought he would have moved on from now, but how could he? How could he when he knew without a doubt that he would think about Ladybug during his last moments? It didn't matter if ten years had passed; he was always going to die thinking of Ladybug. That was what happened when a life was cut short too soon. All there was left of her were what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

She was gone, and Marinette was masquerading as her shadow.

Marinette had nothing but potential. She could only rise from her position, because she had nothing. She would take Ladybug's future if Chat Noir and Nino had their way, and if the plan continued without a hitch. She would take Ladybug's what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, and she would breathe new life into the Dupain-Cheng family.

He wanted to resent Marinette. He wanted to resent that she was alive and Ladybug was dead, as if the two lives were connected. It was an irrational desire to want to resent Marinette, and ultimately fruitless. He didn't resent her at all.

But it wasn't love. It might never be love, not as long as he knew without a doubt that he would think about Ladybug during his last moments.

Could he have loved Marinette if he had never met Ladybug?

Chat Noir went to sleep on that ship, never knowing what his answer would be.

 

* * *

 

Someone as strong and memorable as the sun.

Marinette turned the ring over in her hand. She knew now that there had been a kind of love, that she had loved this person and that they had loved her back. Had it been romantic? She would have been young, only eight years old or possibly even younger, depending on when she had received this ring. She had seen the short-lived infatuations that the other children had in the orphanage, and she had been removed from all of that because of the ring and her faint memories. She had seen the ways the children had loved, and children did know the meaning of love, even if it meant something different due to their youth and inexperience.

Did it matter if it was romantic? It hadn't before—it only ever briefly crossed her mind during the last ten years of her life—but suddenly it did matter.

Because she had feelings for Chat Noir. For Adrien. Romantic feelings.

It felt like love. She thought that it might be, or at least the beginnings of a kind of love. It also felt like betrayal.

The only reason why it would feel like betrayal would be if she had also loved this person romantically, back when she had been a mere child. She must have been a happy child, but a child nonetheless. Did her feelings _now,_ her feelings for Chat Noir as a young woman, override her feelings _then?_ She had kept the ring for so long and was traveling all the way to Paris in hopes of meeting this person again. What did she want from them if she did meet them?

This person had been family, but that was too vague. Family in what way? Family in the way Chat Noir and Nino had become her family in the short span of time she had traveled with them?

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know if there was anything  _to_ do. Her feelings weren't strong enough for her to act on them, and even if she did act on them, she didn't think that Chat Noir would reciprocate. She had told him quite clearly that there was someone she hadn't been able to forget, when they had been together in that golden field, and he had said the same. Even if she decided to put aside whatever feelings she had had in the past, she couldn't ask Chat Noir to do the same. It wouldn't be fair of her to do so, not while she carried the silver ring with its promise.

And what did she have to offer to any partner? She was a penniless orphan with no family that she knew of, and she remembered little of her past. It didn't matter if it was Chat Noir or anyone else, she had nothing to offer and would feel guilty being only on the receiving end. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be love.

Love, again.

These were foolish thoughts. She had to focus on learning to become a Grand Duchess. She had to meet Alya, and then meet the Empress if all went well. She had to find out if she had any family in Paris at all.

Whatever she was feeling for Chat Noir, it would have to wait.

 

* * *

 

Her sleeping face was lovely.

Hawk Moth reached for her face, but paused just before touching the softly glowing vision. He was so close, yet so far. The train accident had failed to kill her, so perhaps this time he would have to manipulate her senses directly. A dreaming mind would be so easy to control, and he smirked as he circled the vision once more. An individual's greatest fears and hopes were often realized through dreams, and he cradled the vision as if it were a child.

As she slept on, he could feel the butterflies materialize from his thoughts. They fluttered, eager to possess and haunt and curse, but this was to be more delicate work.

At his bidding, they fanned their wings and turned bright red, green, and blue. Childish colors for a childish mind dreaming of childish thoughts.

It was clear from his observations that she remembered little of her past. It was even more obvious that she was desperate to regain any semblance of a family that she once had, and he wanted to throw back his head and howl with laughter. He didn't, because it was beneath him to excessively gloat, but what he would do instead might just warrant some laughter.

He could be kind even in his cruelty. Sabine Cheng had accepted his friendship because of that kindness, only to recoil in horror once she understood the nature of that kindness.

He would be kind to Marie Dupain-Cheng because he could afford to be. He would be kind, and then he would kill her.

 

* * *

 

She opened her eyes to fields of grass and flowers swaying gently before her, dandelion fluff dancing in the wind. She was so warm and comfortable, dozing lightly underneath an old twisted tree. She didn't know where she was—didn't even know _who_ she was—but it didn't matter as long as she could drift back to sleep with the scent of the rich earth permeating the air. 

Except there was a woman beckoning a slim finger.

She sat up slowly, cocking her head at this woman who was smiling so genially at her. There were butterflies fluttering around this woman, red and green and blue, and as they fanned their wings, a feeling of drugged contentment stole over her, and her head nodded. She wanted to go back to sleep, but the woman had come closer and was laughing in the wind, still beckoning.

With some effort, she got onto her feet and followed this woman willingly. She was a beautiful woman, short dark hair ruffling in the wind, and Marinette wanted this woman to turn around again and show her face because she had been sleepy and the woman's face had been blurry, as if she was seeing her through a waterfall or sheets of distorted glass. Her body was as light as a feather, her feet treading through the dirt and the grass and the flowers.

_Who are you?_ she longed to shout.

But the woman couldn't read her thoughts, so she never turned around and kept going.

So Marinette followed blindly.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir woke up when a sharp pain crossed his cheek. “Ow!” he yelped as he abrupt threw the sheets off of his body. He felt his face and droplets of blood came away on his fingers. He glanced around, cursing slightly, only to go still when frantic blue and green eyes neared his face once more.

Tikki and Plagg were making agitated noises, twisting their bodies around each other. Tikki had been pawing Chat Noir's face as well; she had scratched his cheek. If he had been more awake, he would have wasted precious time wondering how Plagg had gotten into the room or why the two cats were getting along, but his eyes followed Tikki as she jumped onto Marinette's bed, still meowing—

Marinette's bed. Marinette's very  _empty_ bed.

The ship was rocking rather violently, and he could hear the sounds of a storm.

“Marinette!”

 

* * *

 

The woman was standing on the edge of a cliff, still beckoning. Marinette joined her and peered over the edge of the cliff, only to see a pleasant watering hole where a man was swimming. He was reassuringly solid and he glanced up to wave at Marinette and the woman. He had a kind face.

Marinette waved back.

“Hello sunshine,” the man called, and his deep voice made her heart ache.

“Hello,” she called in response, and giggled when he submerged his head and raised it only to spew water in her direction.

The man was smiling. “Jump in.”

“What?”

“Jump in,” he urged.

The woman laughed; it was not the prettiest laugh she had ever heard, but it was joyful and touched a chord inside of her chest. The woman's face turned towards her and she tried to focus on her features, but too late, the woman had shifted and leaped into the water, creating quite a splash that overwhelmed the man. The two of them eventually emerged, spluttering but still full of smiles.

Marinette wanted to jump in. The water looked cool and fresh, and the man and the woman were beckoning together now. They were so happy and maybe Marinette could snatch some of that happiness for her own if she joined them.

But she hesitated.

The man saw her hesitation, and suddenly he stopped smiling. “Jump!” he commanded, and the woman melted away as the man seemed to grow until he towered over Marinette. His eyes glowered red and he seized Marinette with an overgrown hand, hissing into her face. “Yes, jump! This is all part of the Dupain-Cheng curse!”

Marinette screamed helplessly and clawed at his hand, but he would not let go. The sky had darkened and she could feel wind and water blasting her face as the man screamed back at her.

“Marie-Dupain Cheng!”

“Marie!”

“Marinette!”

 

* * *

 

“Marinette!”

Chat Noir cupped his hands around his mouth, but it was hopeless. The storm was louder, and there was no way Marinette would be able to hear him over the wind and the water. He skidded around the deck of the ship, adrenaline pumping in his veins.

Ultimately it was a flash of red that caught his attention.

“What are you doing?” Chat Noir all but screeched when he finally saw Marinette, alone in the storm and scant seconds away from plunging into the waters. He forcefully pulled her away from the edge of the ship and began to shake her. He could see that her eyes were closed and he was chilled to the bone, both from the rain and from the horrifying thought that she would be dead by now if Tikki and Plagg had failed to wake him up.

He had to wake her up.

“Marinette!”

Her eyes flew open and she gasped helplessly in the rain, gulping for breath. Her gaze skated around him, as if she didn't quite register Chat Noir despite his firm grip on her shoulders. She certainly didn't seem to notice that she had been so very close to jumping to her own watery death. “The curse,” she gasped out, “the c-c-curse. The Dupain-Cheng curse—”

“There's no curse, Marinette. What are you talking about?”

“Faces,” she blurted out, and now she was weeping into his chest. “I don't remember, I don't remember, I don't remember...”

Strong arms encircled her. “It's okay,” came a deep soothing voice. “You're safe now.”

“I don't remember, Chat...Adrien.”

“It's okay, Marinette. Cry it out.”

And she did.

 

* * *

 

They didn't talk about the sleep-walking incident, if only because Marinette had looked at Chat Noir with pleading, red-rimmed eyes. She slept uneasily until they finally got off of the ship, and appeared markedly more cheerful once they were on land. Nino had been suspicious, but with Chat Noir backing Marinette's claims that nothing was wrong, he seemed placated and started singing off-key while fiddling with his notes.

They were finally in Paris, and they were to meet Alya the next day.

Adrien fingered his hair. He kept it longer as Chat Noir, because there was no reason to look respectable. Nino was the one who kept neat and tidy; he was the one who lured in the victims with his clean face and soft-spoken voice. Chat Noir sealed the deal with smooth words and a ready smirk, sometimes even a coy bat of the eyelash if needed.

It was time to leave those days behind him. As long as everything went well, he and Nino could finally stop being con artists.

“Nino,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground, “will you cut my hair for me?”

“Of course,” came the easy answer. Nino usually trimmed Chat Noir's hair every so often, but this would be different.

“I mean...” he struggled for a moment. “Cut it nicely.”

Pause.

“Okay,” Nino said, even as his eyes held a thousand questions. But he said nothing as he cleaned a pair of scissors. He said nothing as he wet Chat Noir's hair. He said nothing as strands of blond hair fell to the ground. He only spoke when the deed was finished and he brushed Chat Noir's hair one more time before Chat Noir went to look at himself in the reflection of a store window.

Quietly, “Do you like it?”

Chat Noir turned to him and Nino saw Adrien, with his crisp golden hair and vulnerable green eyes. But he blinked and the vision was soon gone, and Chat Noir went back to his side and wordlessly hugged him. Nino's arms went around his best friend and he was tempted to cry.

When Marinette saw Chat Noir for the first time after the haircut, she dropped her belongings and turned pink.

Chat Noir pretended not to see. Nino didn't bother pretending.

 

* * *

 

Alya opened the door, took one look at Chat Noir, and shut the door again.

He sighed as Nino and Marinette snickered in the background, and knocked again.

The door cracked open and brilliant golden eyes peeked out before squinting with mirth. “You should have seen the look on your face!” Alya guffawed as she held the door open with one hand and held her stomach with the other, bent over from laughing.

Marinette didn't have to look at Nino to know that he was grinning like a lovesick child. Alya had a beautiful vibrant laugh, and as she began to quiet and brush her hair back from her face, Marinette could see how Nino would have fallen for the mirthful golden eyes and easy smile on a sweet face.

Marinette just wanted to know how she styled her hair, which fell in effortless waves.

“Come in, come in,” Alya was saying, and the three of them crowded in. Tikki was playing on the grass in front of Alya's place, and when Marinette turned back questioningly, Tikki ignored her.

They were ushered into a sitting room where a maid was laying out refreshments, and that was when Alya turned to Marinette, giving the orphan her full attention. There was something curiously hard about the way Alya looked her, something very carefully discerning. Her gaze swept up and down Marinette's figure, taking in every critical detail. Marinette stood very still; she had no doubt that Alya was already testing her even if the test itself wasn't obvious. Eventually Alya gave a tiny nod, reddish-brown waves bobbing with her head, and Marinette could hear Chat Noir let out a tiny sigh of relief. She had passed the first test.

“She certainly looks like Marie,” Alya allowed after a pregnant silence. She gestured offhandedly at the ornamental couches, and they all sank into their seats, with the exception of Chat Noir, who stood near a wall.

Nino automatically leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees. “But?”

“But so did many of the other girls.”

Alya reached for a cup of tea and took a measured sip, enjoying the tense silence that fell in the room. Then her eyes flickered up to Marinette, and she took in the woman before her once more. Woman she was, but she looked more like a girl, sitting upright and looking about her occasionally. Alya liked that about her, liked her curiosity, but this wasn't about liking the women who came and went pretending to be Marie Dupain-Cheng.

She thought of Sabine Cheng and of tired she was of seeing these women. That was why Alya had offered to start screening the candidates first.

She would not go easy on this woman before her. For Sabine's sake.

“Let's begin.” Setting down the teacup, Alya started with her first question. “How does Marie like her tea?”

“I don't like tea. Just hot water and lemon.”

Alya eyed Marinette, amused by her calm but certain response. “Correct,” she drawled, which was true, but this was only the beginning.

The questions went on, and Marinette continued to answer them smoothly, all while delicately nibbling at the pastries set on the table and taking small gulps of the hot water provided. Alya was impressed by this particular woman as the minutes ticked on, and she was rapidly running out of questions. She wasn't entirely convinced that Marie Dupain-Cheng was sitting before her, but she thought that this woman was close to earning herself an actual meeting with Sabine.

But not before a final question.

“Now this might seem like an odd question, but indulge me.” Alya could see Nino and Chat Noir straightening at her words, but she kept her gaze focused on Marinette. “How did you escape from the palace?”

Chat Noir sank against the wall and covered his face with a hand, cursing silently. He didn't think that Alya would ask this question, and this was his mistake. He didn't have to look up to know that Nino was glancing worriedly back at him.

Marinette hadn't noticed the two men and their worries. She sat perfectly still, staring down at her clenched hands, thinking. As Alya watched her, Marinette felt for the ring in the pocket of her dress, hoping that it would give her confidence.

And it came to her.

Someone as strong and memorable as the sun.

“There was a boy. He...he opened a wall.”

“He opened a wall?"

“I know it sounds silly, but yes. He opened a wall. And that was how I escaped.”

Alya leaned back in her seat, eyebrows perfectly arched.

“Well?” Nino prompted.

She smiled at Nino and Marinette. “Well. She answered all of the questions.”

Chat Noir froze. He could distantly hear the surprise in Alya's voice because he knew she hadn't expected Marinette to correctly answer the question. He knew because the same surprise was lodged in his throat; he hadn't told Marinette anything about how Marie escaped from the old palace.

But she knew. She had come up with the answer. She knew because she _remembered._

Marinette was Marie.

Marinette was Marie Dupain-Cheng.

Marinette was _Ladybug._

Chat Noir felt his heart break.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL IT'S ABOUT TIME.


	5. Paris Holds The Key (To Your Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Was it fun, fooling a poor orphan girl into believing she might be a princess?”

“What do you mean we won't be seeing the Empress?”

Alya sighed. “She's decided not to see any more girls pretending to be Marie. The last one almost fooled her, but we caught her lying in the end. You wouldn't be able to understand, Nino. She's just a mother who wants to see her child again, but everyone else only sees the reward.”

Nino ignored the twinge of guilt in his chest—he had already promised Chat Noir that he wouldn't back out. And as much as he cared for Alya, he knew that she had devoted her life to the Empress and to seeing the safe return of the Grand Duchess Marie. She would never forgive him if she learned the truth, so lying to her was hardly the worst thing he could do at this point.

Instead, he persisted, “Isn't there any way we can set up a meeting?”

“Try standing in my shoes for a moment. I've been bringing countless girls to Sabine, and every single one has been a fake. I don't want to fail her again.”

“Alya—”

“You ask too much of me,” she said suddenly, an edge in her voice.

“Then why see us to begin with?”

Marinette bit her lip and her eyes darted back and forth between Alya and Nino, unsettled by the tension in the atmosphere. Even so, she couldn't help but notice something soften in Alya as her shoulders slumped. It came to her suddenly; Nino loved Alya, and although she wasn't sure of Alya's feelings, she could tell that Alya was fond of him.

It was that fondness that made her relent in the first place.

“Sabine may have given up, but I haven't.” Pause. “Nino...”

“There's no other way to meet her?”

She smiled gently at him. “I can't set up a meeting. Not officially.”

“Officially?”

She sidled closer and Nino flushed all the way to the tip of his ears. “The Empress and I are going to see the Russian ballet tonight. We never miss it. Do you suppose your girl here,” and she cast a lingering look at Marinette who was trying her best to stay still and quiet, “also likes the Russian ballet?”

They instantly understood.

“She does!” Nino all but shouted.

“I do!” Marinette blurted out, although she knew almost nothing about Russian ballet.

Alya laughed and pulled the two of them into a hug. “Now that's what I like to hear.”

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir was still against the wall, toying with his tie. Marinette enjoyed the view for a moment—with his freshly cut hair and jacket, he looked almost respectable. There was some kind of gloom on his face, which puzzled Marinette. Hadn't they done a good job? Weren't they a step closer to finding out if Marinette was truly the Grand Duchess Marie?

His green eyes suddenly focused on her.

“Marinette.”

“Chat Noir.” She stopped before him. “Something wrong?”

“No, you...” He licked his lips and she couldn't help following his movements. “You did great.”

“Well, you did help.”

He was tugging at his tie again. “About that, I never told you how the Grand Duchess escaped from the palace.”

“Well, no.”

“No one should know because no one knows if she's even still alive. How did you—?”

Marinette bit her lip and automatically reached for the silver ring. “I remembered something.”

“Something from your past?”

“No, I remembered someone. You remember what I told you, back with all of the flowers?”

He shifted from one foot to another, still playing with his tie. “Remind me.”

“There's someone I haven't been able to forget. I don't remember anything about them, really, except that they reminded me of the sun. But when Alya asked me that question, I remembered something else, for the first time in ten years. I don't know if I escaped from a palace or wherever Marie Dupain-Cheng was, but I was in trouble. There were voices and snow and fire...”

_Don't look back!_

Marinette's voice trailed off and she brought a hand to her head as she winced.

“Marinette?” Chat Noir made a move to touch her, only to restrain himself. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” She waved him away, gingerly massaging her head. “I'm remembering. I don't think I'm any closer to remembering who I was, but I remembered him. He was the person I couldn't forget. He opened a wall somehow, and he helped me.”

He kept staring at her, green eyes inscrutable. Then those eyes found her other hand. “What's in your pocket?”

She flushed and moved her hand away. “It's nothing.”

“Marinette.”

Still she shook her head. She had refused to share the silver ring with anyone for the past ten years; she had feared someone might seize it from her or pressure her to sell it, but she was more afraid of more irrational. She was afraid that she would somehow betray the person in her memories by showing the silver ring to another. She didn't understand the fear, irrational as it was, and now she tried to hide from Chat Noir. “Please. Don't ask me about that.”

He reached out and she tensed, ready to run away. But he only touched her arm. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

She tried to smile, but his kindness made her ashamed of how afraid she was. “It's okay. Um...did you hear anything that Nino and Alya just said?”

“No, what happened? Are you finally going to meet the Empress?”

After a quick explanation, Chat Noir hummed for a moment. “I was hoping for an arranged meeting, but Alya's doing the best she can. We'll make the most of it."

“She also said that we're going to go shopping.”

He grinned at her excitement. “Shopping in Paris, huh? Alya's usually not one for extravagance, but I'm sure she'll help you find something suitable for the Russian ballet.”

“You called?”

Alya came over, golden eyes dancing with delight as Nino trailed behind her. Chat Noir hadn't seen her so joyful in such a long time. He wondered then if she truly believed that Marinette was Marie, if she had been as convinced by Marinette's answers as he was. But she wasn't an easy woman to understand, and her cheerfulness could easily be a facade.

He was afraid that she would sense his thundering thoughts, but she barely glanced at him before tugging at Marinette's elbow. “Come now, Marinette. Let's go get ready for a night out in Paris. You're going to have to do much better if you want to go out with _me_.”

Chat Noir breathed a sigh of relief; he had to tell Nino what he had just learned. And unlike Alya, Nino immediately noticed something was wrong and shot a questioning look at his best friend.

“Nino,” Chat Noir said quietly, once Alya and Marinette were out of hearing distance. “She's the real deal.”

Nino gave him a sharp look before relaxing. “I know. She almost fooled me too.”

“No, I'm serious. It's Marie. It's Ladybug.”

Nino wanted to laugh off Chat Noir's words because they were con artists and weren't they so very close to pulling off the biggest con of the century? He wanted to mishear the earnestness in his best friend's voice because Nino didn't trust earnestness, not from Chat Noir at least, but he gave pause anyway. He searched Chat Noir's familiar face. He searched for the telltale signs of a lie, for the spark of mischievousness and laughter lines around those green eyes. But he only found Adrien. Adrien.

Adrien said, “Marinette is the Grand Duchess Marie. She's Ladybug.”

Nino sat down. His hands were shaking. “Our Marinette is Ladybug?”

“Yes.”

“Truly?”

Adrien took Nino's hand and it stopped shaking. “I never told you, but I went to see Ladybug the night she disappeared from the palace. I was the boy who opened the wall. I helped her escape, along with the Empress. But when I never heard from her again...”

“You thought she had died.”

“I knew she didn't die that night, but I thought she must have been caught if she had separated from the Empress. And she had promised to find me again.”

Nino had a flash of insight. “The earrings. They were hers?”

“It was an exchange.” Adrien dropped Nino's hand. “Well, it doesn't matter now. I don't think Marinette remembers that, or she would have—well.”

“She forgot you.”

Adrien flinched. He had such lost, plaintive eyes. “She promised.”

_Together in Paris._

They were together, and they were in Paris, but Adrien had never felt so alone. He was going to lose her again, although she had never been his to lose from the very beginning. The earrings burned a hole in his pocket and he longed to throw them away, to chastise himself for keeping them for so long. It was too late now, so he would at least do right by Marinette.

 

* * *

 

Paris was beautiful at night.

It was noisy and dirty as well, and even a bit frightening. But the city was even more beautiful because of those imperfections. Marinette desperately wished that she had more eyes, but she had to make do with the two she had as she craned her neck this way and that, trying to take in as many sights as possible. Alya laughed as she pulled her along, and Marinette stumbled a little in her new heels. She was a little fearful of dirtying the new dress Alya had purchased for her, a beautiful blue thing with a whirling skirt and sleek bodice, yet the young women who had fitted her in this dress had clapped their hands to their mouths as she surveyed herself in the mirror. “ _Magnifique!_ ” they gushed.

It continued as they explored Paris, feeling as if they had all the time in the world before the Russian ballet. Alya took them to the Eiffel tower, where they were dazzled by the city lights. They walked down the uneven streets where Alya bought roses and tucked them into the pockets of their male companions, Nino and Chat Noir, who were handsome in their pale suits. They had drinks and they danced, and they didn't dance alone. A number of men asked Alya to dance, and she would accept every other one with coquettish smiles, only to dance with Nino between strangers. Marinette wasn't surprised, considering how lovely Alya was in her wine red dress, but she _was_ surprised by the men who asked her to dance as well.

Chat Noir had made the effort of teaching her, so she thought it would be churlish to refuse. Hours of practice on the ship shined that night; she felt as light as a cloud, and her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she passed from one pair of arms to another.

Was this what a princess felt like every day?

She remembered that time at the old palace, when she had been looking for Chat Noir. She must have looked quite the lonely figure, dancing by herself in an abandoned palace, wearing the hand-me-downs of an orphan. But the Grand Duchess Marie Dupain-Cheng would never want for company or fine clothing.

She tried to persuade Chat Noir to dance with her for one turn, but he only smiled benignly and waved her off. The gloom she had seen hanging over him at Alya's never left, and he brooded for the remainder of the time they walked around Paris. Not even the lights of the Eiffel Tower could remove the sadness from Chat Noir, and Marinette never felt so high and so low at the same time. What was the point of enjoying herself if he wasn't enjoying himself?

It was only when Alya was dragging her to try on another dress (“You can't wear the same dress to the Russian ballet, oh _no_ ”) that Marinette realized she had spent the entire day thinking about Chat Noir. She hadn't spared a single thought for the silver ring—hadn't even thought about keeping an eye out for someone who might evoke a memory of the sun. It frightened her, that ten years of holding onto the ring could so easily be surpassed by the few precious weeks she had spent with Chat Noir. She had feared betraying her memories before, so was this betrayal? Would it be wrong to set aside ten years dwelt on a past love?

Marinette wasn't even the same person anymore, so whatever love she had felt for the person in her memories had to have changed as well.

After being pinched and prodded for another good hour, Alya ushered her into a carriage. “You'll meet the others there first,” she said after giving directions to the driver. “I'll be sitting separately with the Empress. Nino and Chat will know what to do.”

Marinette shivered and wrapped the fur coat more securely around her shoulders. “Okay.”

There was that soft look in Alya's eyes again. “Don't worry, Marinette. The truth always comes out in the end.”

Before Marinette could ask her what she meant, the driver took off.

Marinette sat, twisting her gloved hands together, and then glanced down at herself. She had never felt this beautiful, in this dark shimmering blue gown with the white gloves and glittering jewels. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and she fought the urge to touch it. She looked every inch a princess, and she had never wanted to run away so badly in her life.

But Nino and Chat Noir had done so much for her. Perhaps this was why Chat Noir was so dispirited. Surely he was just as nervous as she was.

The carriage came to a stop before she could finish collecting her thoughts. The driver came around, opened the door, and held out a hand to help her down. The air was cold, but she was warm. She stepped down and immediately saw Nino and Chat Noir. They easily stood out, young handsome men that they were, and her treacherous heart sped up at the sight of Chat Noir in his dark suit and slicked hair.

Yet his expression was as stormy as ever. As she drew nearer, she could hear them talking.

“You need to tell her,” Nino was saying, his face tight in a way Marinette had never seen before.

“Tell me what?” she asked immediately, thoughtlessly, and Nino and Chat Noir looked at her at first with amazement, and then with slight shame.

Shame?

Chat Noir spoke first. “Tell you how beautiful you look.” His green eyes were wistful, and Marinette knew that he was lying. But he wasn't about to tell her the truth now, not on the steps to the Russian ballet.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to inject every ounce of sincerity she felt into her words.

Whether or not he understood, he offered his arm and they went inside, Nino trailing behind.

 

* * *

 

She was so close.

He could smell the perfume someone had put on her. It had likely been one of Alya's female attendants, but it didn't lessen his jealousy. Someone else had put that sweet-smelling scent on her throat and her arms. Someone else had fastened the sparkling necklace around her neck. Someone else had run their fingers through her hair.

Adrien would never get this close to her again. He should have never gotten this close to her in the first place. It had never been his place.

She was nervous.

As they waited in their seats for the lights to darken and the ballet to start, she began twisting the program in her hands. He wanted to touch her, to take a hand with one of his own, and to murmur comforting words into her ear.

He compromised.

“Here,” he whispered, touching her arm ever so slightly. He felt goosebumps and shuddered.

“What?”

He handed over the binoculars. “Alya and the Empress are sitting over there. No, closer to the stage. See?”

She looked. “I see her.”

“We'll go see them during the intermission.”

Marinette handed back the binoculars and resumed shredding the program into pieces. “Okay.”

He doubted she would pay much attention to the ballet. Little did she know that she had nothing to worry about. She was the real Marie Dupain-Cheng, and he was certain that Sabine Cheng would see that within minutes of meeting her. The earrings would only confirm what she suspected.

Sure enough, Marinette fidgeted throughout the first half of the ballet and occasionally snatched up the binoculars to look over at Alya and the Empress, even though she wouldn't have seen much with the darkened lights. As intermission arrived, Adrien gave into his desires and took a gloved hand into his own and brought it up to his mouth. He very nearly kissed it, but instead leaned in to whisper, “Everything's going to be okay. You've got this, princess. Let's go.”

She went willingly enough, but as he led her down ornate hallways to where the Empress and Alya were sitting, she began to fidget again and even tried walking back a few times. Each time he caught her hand and gave it a squeeze, hoping that he had a reassuring smile on his face.

“Just breathe, Marinette. Be yourself.”

She looked confused at his words, and understandably so. He and Nino had spent so much time training her to act like someone else, and now he was all but telling her to forget everything she had learned. It wasn't too late to tell her the truth—he could do it right now, draw her aside and come clean about everything, but they were so close to reaching the Empress. Marinette was so close to finding her family again. Surely he could see this lie to the end?

Surely he could. Until it became too late.

“Tell the Empress that I have found her daughter, the Grand Duchess Marie Dupain-Cheng,” he said to Alya, who was guarding the entrance to the Empress's ballet seats. Alya nodded, a conspiratorial grin on her face, and hustled inside to inform the Empress.

“Adrien,” Marinette began, and his heart began to sink again. He knew what was coming.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me.” Slight pause, and then she hurried to correct herself. “Everything you and _Nino_ have done for me.”

 _Please don't thank me, Marinette._ “It was nothing.”

“No, it really wasn't. I would have never had the courage to make it this far on my own.”

“You're wrong,” he said, eyes still fixed on the door, waiting desperately for Alya to return so that he could end this conversation. “You found us first, didn't you? You came to the palace. You were ready to go to Paris all on your own to find your family. You're the brave one, Marinette.”

Before she could protest further and, heavens forbid, try to thank him again, Alya peeked out from behind the door and shook her head ever so slightly.

“Alya?”

“The Empress says she'll see no more impostors,” Alya whispered, eyes big with resigned grief. “She insists that you leave.”

“Can't you talk her out of it—?”

“Not tonight,” she hissed, and she came to them, jerking the door closed behind her. “She's in a mood tonight. I mustn't trouble her, not now. Let's just go for tonight. We can find another way.” She gripped Marinette's elbow and began to steer her back down the hallway, clearly expecting Adrien to follow.

They had come so far, only to be turned back at the last second. Adrien knew that he should follow Alya and Marinette, that Alya would surely help them find another way to contact the Empress, but they were so close. Marinette was so close to seeing her mother again, and if he could just get them to look at each other—if he could reunite them even a minute sooner—

He waited until Alya and Marinette were out of sight, and then hurried through the door.

“Your Highness!”

There was a slight figure seated by the balcony, and Sabine Cheng slowly turned to survey him. He caught his breath as she gazed at him, almond eyes cold. She was lovely in a way that only came with age and tragedy.

The crown glittered in her dark hair, and he was forcefully reminded of how he didn't belong.

“Please,” he gasped out. “Please, I found your daughter. You must see her.”

The almond eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are?”

“Who I am isn't important—”

“I do not have to see anyone, especially not someone who would just disappoint me again.”

“It's the real Grand Duchess Marie, I promise!”

“Your promises mean nothing, Chat Noir.”

He reared back. “How did you know?”

“You think I haven't heard of you? Then congratulations, you're more notorious than you believed you were. You're a conman, Monsieur. You're a conman and I cannot trust your words, least of all your actions. You thought to find a girl to impersonate my daughter, and to con me for the reward money. Isn't that right?”

Adrien refused to back down, even as the shame threatened to take hold of him. “I admit that I'm a conman. I'll even admit that that was my original plan. But I'm telling the truth this time.”

“Ha! What did you do, pick up an orphan girl from the street? Did you hire an actress to say the right words? It has been done before, Chat Noir, and it will be done again so long as I have power and wealth to my name, and so long as my daughter is lost to me. You will have to do much better.”

“I can! She's right here, I can prove it—”

But Sabine Cheng turned away, crown still glittering, and she must have given a signal as two bulky men in uniforms seized Adrien's arms and threw him out into the hallway. He crumpled into the carpet, but only for a moment.

“Chat Noir.”

It was Marinette's voice. She was standing before him with Alya, her face stiffer than her voice.

He knew then. She had overheard.

“Marinette, let me explain.”

Blue eyes suddenly flared with anger. “What is there to explain?” She turned around, shrugging off Alya's touch, and began to walk off.

“Marinette, please.” He tried to follow her, but she refused to look at him.

“Was it fun?”

She was trembling. He ached to comfort her, but he had lost the right. Nino was right; he should have told her the truth when he had the chance.

“Was it fun, fooling a poor orphan girl into believing she might be a princess?”

What could he say to defend himself?

“Marinette, you _are_ the Grand Duchess Marie. I know the truth now, I know.”

“Another one of your lies. How many have I fallen for this time?”

“Please—”

She slapped him. Now that he could see her face, he could also see the angry tears in her eyes. He felt like a monster. He felt like crying himself. But before he could, she turned around once more and disappeared into the throng of people heading back to their seats.

Intermission was over

 

* * *

 

Sabine tiredly made herself comfortable in the back of the car. The Russian ballet had been lively as usual, but even more so due to the disturbance during the intermission. Certainly any remaining Marie impostors still desperate to earn the reward money would be persistent, but none had ever disturbed her to this extent before. The impertinent young man had been removed without much more fuss afterward, but the incident had spoiled the rest of her night. She had thought only of Marie and of her past failures for the remainder of the performance.

She had been harsh to Alya, perhaps too harsh. Alya only wanted to make her happy, and sometimes Sabine wished that she could be content with the devotion of her distant cousin. But Alya's presence could never stave off the emptiness in her heart.

She had turned away this impostor, yet she knew it was only a matter of time before her treacherous hope rose again.

Suddenly the car started, interrupting her thoughts.

“To home, Louis,” she sighed out, leaning against the door.

Louis didn't respond, but the car sped up and made a very sharp turn. The movements jostled Sabine, and she winced as she tried to maintain her sitting position.

“Louis! Go slowly, there's no need to rush.”

“I'm not Louis.”

She immediately sat up. She had heard this voice only hours ago. “Chat Noir.”

“Your Highness.”

“Why have you kidnapped me?”

“You have to see her.”

She sagged a little, but was forced to grip the seats as Chat Noir sped up the car even more. “Stop this car right now.”

“No.”

“Why are you going this far? Will you threaten me at knife-point if I don't accept your little actress?”

He didn't answer, and they rode in silence for the next few minutes. Sabine thought about taking the risk of opening the car door and tumbling out onto the street, but Paris was not safe at night, and she didn't know if Chat Noir had allies nearby. So she sat still, keeping her back perfectly straight. She could not show fear, not to a mere conman who was only after money.

Chat Noir finally stopped before a hotel. He glanced back at her, took in her stony expression, and exhaled slowly. He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. “Please.”

“I will not.”

Another moment of silence, and then some rustling. She didn't dare look at him.

“Your Highness, please look at this.”

Despite herself, she glanced at him. He was holding out something to her, something in his hand. Sabine stared down at his hand for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she gasped. “Those earrings.”

“Yes.”

“I remember those earrings. It's been years...”

“You had them custom-made. Then you gave them to your daughter. To Ladybug.”

“I did,” she said slowly. Fuzzily. The years had robbed her of many memories, of many details of her memories, but she remembered these earrings clear as day. “She loved them so much, but she was scared of piercing her ears. I said she could keep them until she was older. I was supposed to go on a trip to Paris, to leave while Russia was in turmoil, and this was my promise to her.” Her voice shook with regret—if only, if only, if only. “I promised that we would be together again one day, that we would be together in Paris.” She touched them briefly, and then withdrew, frowning. “But this doesn't make sense. She told me, after we had escaped, that she had given them away. She had given them in exchange for something. For...”

The memories were fading again. But the young man kneeling before her suddenly stood up. “Don't you recognize me?” he asked.

Sabine Cheng looked into this man's green eyes, searching for anything familiar. Then: “The servant boy at the palace. Was that you?”

Relief colored his voice. “Yes.”

“You helped us escape.”

“Yes.”

“...Adrien. That's your name, isn't it?”

He took her small pale hand and turned it over. Placed the earrings between her fingers with care. “Please,” he said, and now she could see the love and fear that he had been hiding all along. “She's been alone for the last ten years. I promise you that your daughter is waiting for you. It's Marie. It's Ladybug.”

Her hand shook. “She gave these earrings to you. And you kept them, all this time?”

He retreated several steps back. “Please go to her.”

“But you—”

“Please. We can talk another time. I think you've both waited long enough.”

He held out a hand again, although it was empty this time. And this time, she reached forward without pause and took it, stepping out of the car. She looked at him, afraid to believe.

“It's Ladybug?”

“It's Ladybug,” he said. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Someone was knocking on her door.

Marinette didn't want to answer. Instead, she curled further into herself on the bed. She kept playing the scene over and over again in her head, and even though she believed her anger to be justified, she couldn't get Chat Noir's face out of her mind. But that desperate expression might have been another con of his, another way to weaken her defenses and get her to agree to whatever he said. He was a liar, and Nino was a liar, and she had been fool enough to fall for their lies.

“ _You have something you love, you should chase it.”_

“ _Even if it doesn't lead me anywhere in the end?”_

“ _Sometimes that's why you should chase it.”_

He hadn't been lying that time, Marinette was sure of it. But he had still lied.

The knocking persisted.

“Go away, Chat Noir.”

The door clicked open, and she realized too late that she had never locked the door after flinging herself down onto the bed. She turned her back to the door and shut her eyes tight. She didn't want to see him.

But it was a woman's voice that said, “Please sit up.”

It was Sabine Cheng.

Marinette had seen her through the binoculars at the Russian ballet, but nothing compared to seeing the Empress up close. She was shorter and smaller than Marinette, but she still had an imposing presence. Perhaps it was the crown or the luxurious violet gown, but Marinette suddenly felt very young and unworthy.

Sabine was scrutinizing her face and looking her up and down, not unlike the way Alya had examined her the first day they met. The Empress seemed uncertain of what exactly she was looking for, and soon her eyes dropped down to her hands.

She had such small hands.

“Your Highness?” Marinette dared to ask.

“You certainly look like her,” the Empress said. “But many of the other girls looked like her.”

“I don't know about that,” Marinette answered honestly.

Sabine raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, looks don't mean much now. It's been ten years...” She trailed off, and went back to looking at her hands.

Marinette thought she understood. “You just want to find your family.”

“Yes.”

“I never meant to disrespect you for that. I'm looking for my family too, and I just want to know if I'm a part of your family. If _I'm_ your family.”

Sabine didn't speak for a few seconds. Then: “I almost believed you when you said that. Perhaps you should give up on becoming a princess and become an actress instead.” The Empress began to walk around the room, glancing at the door every now and then. She clearly wanted to leave, but something was compelling her to stay.

As she walked, Marinette caught the faint scent of peppermint, and immediately something stirred in her mind.

“Peppermint,” she said aloud.

The Empress stopped. “Yes,” she said, voice carefully controlled. “Peppermint.”

“You've always worn perfume that smelled like peppermint, didn't you?”

Sabine said nothing.

“I spilled a bottle of it, in your room. And then your room always smelled of peppermint.”

Sabine turned on her heel and sat down on the chair near the vanity. She was looking at Marinette again, and there was something akin to hope in her dark eyes. She beckoned for Marinette to sit with her.

“Do you remember anything else?”

Marinette faltered in the face of the Empress's tentative plea. “I'm sorry, I don't remember much of anything before I was ten years old.”

The hope grew. “What _do_ you remember?”

“Well, I...I remembered making a promise to someone. It was an exchange, you see? We promised to meet again in Paris. We promised...”

“Together in Paris.”

Marinette stared at Sabine. “Yes. That was what we said. Together in Paris.”

Sabine touched her face. There was such palpable longing in her eyes. Then her hand went to Marinette's ear. “Before we were to separate, we had promised to be together again in Paris. I had given her something to make the separation easier, but I never thought that I would lose her forever. And I haven't. I haven't.”

“Your Highness?”

Sabine held up two sparkling gems. Except they weren't gems, they were earrings. Marinette gasped a little, and covered her mouth. Earrings.

She touched her ears.

“I was scared of piercing my ears.”

“You were.”

“So you said I could hold onto them until I was brave enough to wear them.”

“I did.”

“We promised to be together again. In Paris.”

“We did.”

Marinette's heart hurt so much, even more than her head. Soft touches, gentle words, robust laughter. A man and a woman, smiling at her. A man with a kind face, and a woman who laughed joyfully. Marinette could feel her eyes fill.

Haltingly. “Mama?”

Sabine burst into tears, and the earrings dropped onto her lap as she put her arms around Marinette. “Marie!”

_Together in Paris._

The promise had been real. She hadn't made it up. Her mother—Sabine Cheng, the Empress of Russia—was here before her. She had a family again.

But even as she hugged her mother, tears still dripping down her face, she remembered.

_The silver ring._

 

* * *

 

So the brat finally reunited with her mother.

Hawk Moth resisted the urge to crush another butterfly. His energy was waning, and he had to set his next plan into motion. But not all was lost. Perhaps it was fitting that the entire world see the return of the Dupain-Cheng heir. It was a triumphant return, so that little girl would fall that much harder when he tore her down from her lofty throne. And the entire world would see her downfall as well.

He would do it at the celebration party in Paris. Every person of note would be attending to catch a glimpse of the beautiful princess, and they would.

They would also see her beautiful corpse.

 

* * *

 

When his mother presented him to Gabriel Agreste, the man named him on the spot. “Adrien,” he must have said, sharp and commanding as always. “Adrien Agreste.”

His mother received a few more years with her son, and then Gabriel took him away for good.

He didn't remember his mother anymore. He didn't remember if she had given him up willingly, or if Gabriel Agreste had been forced to persuade her. Adrien never blamed her for giving him up though, no matter why she might have done so. Others would have considered her a fool if she had done otherwise; Adrien was given the chance to become an educated, legitimate heir, while she must have been paid off to live the rest of her life comfortably.

But he must have been happy before. He must have, because he had never truly felt unhappy until Gabriel Agreste took him away. The cold halls of the Agreste home and the stilted responses of the servants had unnerved him even as a child, yet he knew better than to voice his complaints. He watched the commanding presence of his father with care, because he knew he was expected to emulate. “Adrien,” his father called him sharply. “Adrien, come here.”

Adrien.

Adrien was a child. He could grow into this world, and he could make it his own. He would have to make it his own in order to survive.

But he was a child and at times he wondered how his life would have changed if Gabriel Agreste had not taken him away. If he had stayed with his mother, he would have never met Ladybug. He wouldn't have hated her, not if he had never gone to Russia to begin with, but he would have never cared as much as he did now. The death of the Dupain-Cheng family would have been a tragedy all the same, but hardly one that would have affected his life.

There would have been another kind of happiness in that life, if he had stayed with his mother.

He would have never met Ladybug.

He would have never loved her.

Perhaps that would have been for the best.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA MY HEART HURTS
> 
> FYI this story WILL be finished, I got it all plotted out.
> 
> Also I will no longer respond to comments unless you explicitly ask me to (don't want to unfairly inflate my stats). But I read everything and THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT.
> 
> NOW CRY BECAUSE ADRIEN


	6. Once Upon a December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She doesn't remember me.”
> 
> “She remembered the boy who opened a wall. Someone like the sun.”
> 
> “That was a long time ago,” Adrien said. “I don't belong in the sun anymore.”

His face was dark, but she knew his face. She knew his eyes. She knew the smile tugging the corners of the mouth. And she knew his name. She loved calling him by his name, if only to see him turn and look at her. She knew if she called his name, he would turn to her without hesitating.

The sun was setting behind him. He was beautiful.

Someone as strong and memorable as the sun.

Marinette woke up with tears in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

That day, as she sat on the floor listening to her mother reminiscence, she brought up the dream. “I've been remembering more every day, Mama, but there is one person I can't seem to really remember no matter what.”

Sabine hummed lightly. “What _do_ you remember? I might be able to help you.”

Marinette had never shown anyone the silver ring, but this was her mother. If her mother couldn't use her connections to find the person from her memories, then no one else could. She relinquished the silver ring and watched as Sabine turned it over and over with her dainty fingers. The longer Sabine lingered over the ring, the more nervous Marinette felt.

“U-um,” she said, clearing her throat slightly. “The most I can remember is that...is that he reminded me of the sun. At least, I think it's a he.”

Sabine's voice was distant, as if she were speaking through glass. “He reminded you of the sun?”

“In my dream, there's this one image that stuck with me. I don't know if it's a memory or just a really strong impression that I have, but he—they—were framed against the sun.” Marinette blushed, wishing that she had more than vague details for her mother. “I think I loved them.”

That got her mother's attention. “Loved?”

“I—I think I did. Or I loved them as much as I could have, as an eight-year-old.”

Sabine glanced thoughtfully at the ring, and then returned it to Marinette. “There is nothing distinguishable about the ring, so unfortunately, I am not sure if it belongs to any family that I know of.”

“Oh...”

“But I believe I've seen a ring very much like this one before.”

Marinette straightened. “Really?”

“I have to do a little more digging, but as far as I know, there are no surviving members of that particular family.” Sabine eyed her daughter. “You look upset, my dear.”

“I'm not.”

“Oh, my dear Ladybug. I regret not seeing you grow up during the last ten years, but I am your mother. I can tell when my daughter is upset.” Sabine drew Marinette into a gentle embrace. “Now what's wrong?”

So this was what it was like to have a mother. Marinette was tempted to burst into tears again, as she had done so for the last few days spent getting to know her mother all over again, but she restrained herself. “I had always thought...I remember our promise to be together in Paris. But for some reason, this ring would remind me of that promise. So I thought...I thought that I had made that promise with the owner of this ring. And to think that I'm still missing something, that there's something I'm still forgetting...”

There was something very strange about her mother's expression, yet Sabine's voice was perfectly calm as she said, “I'm certain you'll remember in time. You're already remembering so much. Just let me look into this ring for you—no, you can have it back, I will remember what it looks like—and look forward to the ball.”

She gave Marinette one last tight hug before releasing her. “Now, let's take a look at your gowns.”

 

* * *

 

“You won't accept the reward?”

The young man stood rigidly before her, refusing to meet her eyes. Sabine tilted her head, amused despite herself. Before she could repeat her question, he replied, rather stiffly, “There's no need for a reward. The fact that the Grand Duchess has been reunited with her family is reward enough.”

He used to be better at lying, or at least he must have been, to have built a reputation as Chat Noir.

“You saved my daughter and me before, many years ago. I remember now. And you reunited us years later. Yet you want no reward?”

“No, please, keep your rubles.”

“You will need rubles if you're going back to St. Petersburg.”

“How did you know?”

“Because you love her.”

He reeled back as if she had physically struck him. She could see the stubborn denial on his face and wanted to sigh.

“Your Highness, please, I have no such feelings or intentions towards your daughter.”

“You're leaving because you love her. Now why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“Your Highness, don't.”

“I will not force you to accept the reward or to stay in Paris, Adrien. But tell me, what are you so afraid of? Why are you so upset?”

“I have to go—”

“You gave her a ring.”

“...”

“You gave her a ring, and she gave you her earrings. You two made a promise, didn't you?”

“...”

“You loved her even then, even though you were both children and your idea of love was immature at best. Where is that confidence now?”

“I should have known better than to have loved her,” Adrien admitted, almost against his will.

“Because of your parents?”

His glare could cut stone. “You know.”

“Yes. To think that I thought you were a servant boy at the time... But I never paid much attention to gossip before.”

“There wouldn't have been much gossip to begin with. My father knew to suppress any rumors, especially if they were about his own mistakes. Legitimizing me as his heir was just part of his cover-up.”

“You think that your parents had made a mistake?”

“I was the product of that mistake,” he said bitterly. “They should have known better. And I—I should have known best of all.”

Sabine placed her hands in her lap, silent for a moment as she surveyed the young man before her. “Then you think you made the same mistake?”

“I spent _years..._ ”

“Those years were never wasted, Adrien.” He flinched, and she sighed. “ _Chat Noir._ If you had never kept those earrings, had never kept Ladybug in your thoughts all this time, then she wouldn't be here with me. You restored her to me. Can't you accept that you're a good man, and that your love for her isn't wrong?”

“She remembered her promise with you, to find you again in Paris. She would have found you on her own.”

Sabine smiled. “Are you so sure that she remembered her promise with  _me?_ ”

“She doesn't remember me.”

“She remembered the boy who opened a wall. Someone like the sun.”

“That was a long time ago,” Adrien said. “I don't belong in the sun anymore.”

 

* * *

 

She was wearing a red dress. Of course she was wearing a red dress. Marie always looked best in red.

“Adrien,” she greeted him, practically glowing with joy. She was so lovely, in that full red gown and the crown sparkling in the dark waves of her hair. He didn't think that he saw forgiveness in her eyes, and he intended to keep it that way. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. He didn't deserve anything from her.

“Marie,” he said in response as he came down the stairs. He could see her wince a little, unaccustomed to her new name.

He wasn't used to it either. He rarely used Ladybug's given name, and now he had to reconcile the Ladybug he had built up in his mind and the Marinette he had fallen in love with to the Marie he had known as a child.

An older male attendant harrumphed. “Young man,” he said, teetering around the edges of Marinette's skirt, “young man, you have to address the princess as her Royal Highness—”

Marinette frowned. “That's not necessary—”

“No, no, he's right. I was being rude.” He had to put distance between them, even in the way he spoke to her. He stepped back and made a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

She frowned, but appeared resigned to matching his coolness. “I suppose you've just come back from your meeting with the Empress.”

“Yes, my business here is complete.”

Blue eyes darted all over him, as if looking for a glimpse of the reward money, before lowering. “I see.”

He was never going to see her again. Even though he could never tell her about the past, or even his feelings right now, he could at least have one last civil conversation. “Is that the dress you'll be wearing to the ball?” he asked, only to snap his mouth shut a moment after. He should not have brought up the ball when he had flatly declined to attend.

But Marinette brightened at his question.

“Yes! Actually, this dress was one of my designs,” she said shyly, yet with some pride that made his heart ache again. “It's so strange; I used to save any scrap I could get my hands on, and now there are people who would make whatever I asked them to make. I'm thinking I want to keep on designing and making clothes, even if princesses aren't supposed to.”

“You can do whatever you want, Marinette,” Adrien said softly. “Whatever you want.” Then: “I mean, Your Highness.”

Marinette flushed. “Why are you—”

And then he saw it.

Later he would wonder why he had never seen her wear it, when he had just been Chat Noir and she had just been Marinette. Later he would realize that she had hidden it well from the world. Later he would remember the times when they were children, and how he had given that ring to her without a care for his family name. Later he would puzzle, with some pain, over why she had kept the ring but hadn't bothered to keep her promise.

Later. But now, he felt nothing. It didn't mean anything anymore.

“I have to go.”

“Adrien—”

“Your Highness. I wish all the best for you and your future.”

“Adrien, why are you doing this?”

There was so much hurt in her voice and on her face, and Adrien wanted so desperately to tell her everything. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to wrest the ring from her finger because she had no right to wear that, to wear a symbol of his old love, when she didn't remember a thing about him. She only remembered a boy who opened the wall. Was that all he was to her? Some bizarre figment of her imagination who helped her escape death? Did—did everything else mean nothing to her?

But it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault at all. And who was he to hold a childhood promise against her? They had both been in impossible situations, and he had been the one to make her promise. He should have never made her promise.

It would have been better if she had never met him.

He looked at her, eyes glistening. “Good-bye.”

And then he was gone.

“Adrien!”

 

* * *

 

It was chaos in the old palace.

Servants and other aristocrats were rushing around. The revolutionaries were going to storm the palace at any minute, and people were scrambling to gather up their valuables. No one paid any attention to a skinny little servant boy running around, which Adrien was grateful for. But how was he going to find Marie?

Then he saw them.

They should have already fled. They should have been miles and miles away from here already, away from the mad man taking his revenge on the royal family. Why were the two of them still here, hurriedly making them way ever deeper into the palace?

He followed them with no small amount of difficulty, and as he followed them, he saw that Marie was the one leading the way, tugged at her mother's hand with agitation.

The room Marie had been so desperate to find was the one with the servant quarters entrance. Adrien was relieved; perhaps they were escaping through that route? But no, as he peered through a crack in the door, he saw Sabine and Marie scrambling around the room, looking for something. He wanted to scream. They were running out of time. And _he_ was running out of time. He had to get Marie alone and convince her to leave with him. He would do a better job of protecting her than her mother evidently had, or even her father.

Marie let out a shout of exclaim; she had found whatever she had been looking for. He had to make his move.

“You have to leave.”

Sabine whipped her head around, and then relaxed at seeing the young servant boy. “We are, Marie just had to come back for something.”

Clearly Sabine didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Adrien resisted the urge to scream again. “You can take the servant quarters entrance here, it will lead you out of the palace more quickly.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sabine sighed with relief.

Marie was looking at him with awe.  _How are you here?_ her eyes asked, but Marie also knew there was no time left. Mother and daughter started for the entrance Adrien was pointing out, but then Adrien caught Sabine's sleeve.

“Please, give me a moment with her.”

Sabine looked at him incredulously, at this mysterious servant boy who had grabbed her sleeve so imploringly. She was about to say no—“I won't risk my daughter's safety”—but Marie pushed her towards the entrance, deliberating separating them. “Mama, let me talk to him.”

“Him?” Sabine started to panic and reached for her daughter. “Marie, we don't have time. We have to go.”

“It's Adrien. Let me talk to him.”

“A-Adrien? How do you know him?” _How do you know a servant boy?_

“Please, Mama.”

“But—”

“ _Please._ ”

Sabine understood her daughter's stubbornness better than anyone else. The longer she drew out this conversation, the more resistant Marie would become, and time was quickly becoming a scarce commodity. She hesitated at the entrance, gaze darting between the two children. “All right, I'll wait on the other side. Five minutes, okay? And if you hear anything, come immediately.”

“I will, Mama.”

Sabine's eyes lingered on her daughter, and then skirted to the boy. This fair-haired servant boy who held such sway over her daughter. Unable to shake off her uneasiness, Sabine could only keep her word. She disappeared through the wall.

And then it was just Adrien and Marie. Adrien wasted no time.

“Come with me.”

“You?” Wide blue eyes stared at him. “I can't.”

“You can't stay here. It's not safe anymore. Don't you know what's happening outside?”

“No. But Mama and Papa...”

Adrien couldn't stand that stubborn, loyal expression of hers any longer. “It's your family's fault that everyone hates them! What's the point of staying with them if you just end up getting hurt? What's the point if you end up dead?”

Her eyes flared up. “I won't leave them! You don't leave family!”

“Sometimes you don't have a choice!” Adrien yelled back. “Everyone leaves. My father left my mother, my mother left me. Now you're going to leave me too.”

She was shocked. He had never spoken so openly about his parents before. “Adrien.”

“I don't have anyone else,” he said, nearly sobbing. “Ladybug, please. Please don't go.”

Small arms embraced him and, weak as he was, he let himself find comfort in those frail arms. The top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders, yet he hugged her back fiercely, hoping against hope that this was her way of agreeing to leave with him.

But she soon withdrew, and her eyes were pained. “I can't go with you. I can't leave Mama alone.”

“Even if you're leaving me alone?”

She flinched and he hated himself then, for making her choose. But he didn't hate himself enough to take back his words. So he waited.

“Adrien,” she said at last.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been to Paris?”

“This...this isn't the time, Ladybug. Please, come with me—”

“I've never been there,” Marie continued. “Mama says it's big and crowded and sparkly at night. She says it can be dirty and scary, but also beautiful.”

“Ladybug—”

“Before...before all this, Mama was going to go again. She was going to leave me alone for a long time. So she made a promise with me.”

Adrien was about to interrupt again, but Marie came very close. He thought she was going to put her arms around him again, yet this time, she took one of his hands and turned it palm up. She covered it with her hands and withdrew again, leaving behind a pair of sparkling earrings.

“Mama promised,” she said. “She said that we would see each other again, in Paris. So I'm promising you too, Adrien. Whatever happens, let's meet again in Paris.”

The earrings were beautiful but cold—a poor substitute for the human girl who owned them. “You shouldn't make promises you can't keep.”

“I know. I can't leave Mama, but I can't leave you either. So please keep these for me. Give them back when we meet in Paris.”

The tears came unbidden. “You won't come with me.”

“Please, Adrien. Please take these and leave.”

“What if you die, Ladybug? What if I never see you again?”

“We'll see each other again,” she said with a confidence that he didn't understand. “I know it.”

He closed his hand around the earrings. It would have to be enough. On impulse, he reached deep into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out the ring his father had given him. The Agreste ring, proof of his legitimacy and his inheritance. Without further hesitation, he dropped it into Marie's hands.

“Then keep this until we see each other again. So we're even.”

She smiled at the ring. “It's pretty.” Then, with sudden realization: “I have to go.”

“We'll see each other again, in Paris.”

“Together in Paris.”

The doors slammed open, and Adrien tore his gaze away from her. Men were streaming into the room, their movements harsh and jerky with rage. The moment was gone, and it was time to go. Marie's blue eyes were wide with fear again and she would have stood rooted right there if Adrien hadn't forced her through the wall.

“Adrien!” she cried.

But there was no time to reassure her. He sealed the entrance and broke the lock for good measure. The men had reached them at last—reached _him._ She was on the other side. She was safe.

“Adrien!”

“Don't look back!” he howled at her, ignoring the rough hands on him and the pain blooming in his chest. “Don't look, Ladybug! Don't look back!”

Those blue eyes had been filled with tears. And then they were gone from his sight, and he kept his head down, balled around the earrings in his hands. He was holding onto them so tightly that they pierced his skin. He was surrounded by the angry voices of angry adults, and he wondered briefly if his father would even care if he died today.

It didn't matter, because he wasn't going to die. He was going to live. Not for Gabriel Agreste's sake, not for the inheritance that he had never cared for anyway. He had to live and return to Paris. He had to see Marie one more time and to return the earrings to her.

But the ring would be hers for as long as she wanted it. It was his life, and now it was his love.

 

* * *

 

As lively as the music was, Marinette wasn't in the mood for dancing.

She pulled back the curtain slightly so she could at least see the whirling pairs on the ballroom floor, yet she had no desire to join them. She was certain there would be no shortage of partners willing to dance with the newly found Grand Duchess, but she had only ever danced with one person, and that person remained on her mind.

“He's not there.”

“I know he's not there,” Marinette began, but then she caught herself. “Who are you talking about, Mama?”

Sabine stepped closer to her daughter, smiling genially at her. She was lovelier than ever, in a stately midnight gown and royal jewels, but no one could match the youthful splendor of the Grand Duchess that night.

“Yes, well,” Sabine said in that faraway voice again, and then she neatly sidestepped the question to pull back the curtain herself. “Look at them dance.”

Marinette looked again. It was a waltz, that much she knew.

_One two three, one two three, one two three._

“ _Follow my lead.”_

When she tore her eyes away, she saw that Sabine had been looking at her the whole time.

"Does it look fun?”

“Not really.” Then, hastily: “It does, but I just don't want to dance right now.”

Sabine's gaze lingered.

“I wonder if this is what you really wanted.”

Marinette didn't know what to say for a moment. After she found her voice again, she took her mother's hand. “How can you say that? I found you. I found my family. I finally have what I always wanted.”

Sabine's smile widened, and she hugged her daughter dearly. “And I am so happy that you found me. But maybe there is something that you want more now.”

“What do you mean?”

Releasing her, Sabine whispered, “He didn't take the reward money.”

Marinette barely noticed as Sabine kissed her forehead and parted the curtain to join the throng of dancers. She barely noticed as Tikki padded to her, purring worriedly. She barely noticed as her crown slipped ever so slightly from her head. She could only hear the blood rushing in her ears as she thought back to her last encounter with Adrien.

He hadn't taken the reward money.

The crown slipped more, and Marinette absently pushed it back into place. So he hadn't decided to skip town because he was now a rich man. Then why...?

“Marinette?”

Why did he leave?

“Marinette, there's something that's been bothering me.”

He had never left her before like this.

“Marinette...”

No, he wasn't the one who always left.

Because _she_ always left.

But then she felt it. Something faintly brushing against her hand. She lifted it up and stared at the fanning dark wings on the back of her hand.

It was a black butterfly.

Tikki hissed and backed up, her fur standing on end. “It all makes sense now. What happened on the train, the ship. _He's_ still around.”

“What are you talking about?”

But Tikki took off after the butterfly, racing down to the garden. Marinette could hear her yowling as she gave chase, and without thinking, she followed. Tikki's behavior was frightening her. The train, the ship. Marinette had almost died in both cases, but hadn't those been freak accidents?

Unless they weren't accidents.

Unless Tikki knew what, or rather who, was behind the accidents.

_He._

She had to know.

“Tikki!” she called frantically as she went deeper and deeper into the garden, into the hedge maze. “Tikki, where are you?”

There was an eerie pink glow, and Tikki seemed hellbent on following it. Whenever Marinette seemed to lose her, the pink glow would light up faintly, and she would catch Tikki's tail whisking around the corner to chase that glow.

She ran and she ran, over the cobblestone path that seemed to be in more and more disrepair the further she went.

And then she was out of the maze.

Where...?

A bridge. A lake.

A different bridge. A different lake.

She winced. The crown was hurting her head.

And the man.

_That_ man.

Something cold unfurled inside of her.

“ _Hawk Moth.”_

 

* * *

 

 

She remembered.

Mama and the snow. Mama in the snow.

They were running across a frozen lake. Why were they...? Mama always told her not to go out onto the frozen lake by herself. Mama would make sure that it was safe before anyone could go. But there was no time today. Mama had stepped onto the lake and tested it with her foot. It would do. It would have to do. They were running out of time.

The lake, the lake. The lake was so beautiful, but it was dark and it was snowing.

And then it got darker.

It was that man, the man who was angry at Papa and Mama. He was the reason why they were running, and now he was leaping from the bridge—had he been there the whole time?

Mama was screaming and tugging her hard.

The man was laughing. What was his name? Butterflies.

Something to do with butterflies.

Then he grabbed her leg, and she didn't have time to think about his name anymore.

“You think I will let you escape?” he snarled.

Mama was still screaming and pulling. “Hawk Moth, let her go!”

It was so cold, but she had to fight. “Let me go!”

He was so strong and his grip was so tight. He hated Papa and Mama. He wanted them dead, so he surely wanted her dead as well. Mama was trying her best to pull her away, but Mama was a slight woman. Marie tried kicking at him, but she was only a little girl.

Mama was a slight woman, and she was only a little girl. The man was much bigger and taller—and heavier.

The lake broke.

And then—a ladybug?

Perhaps she had been seeing things because of the snow and the man, but she thought it must have been a ladybug. It was so small and so red, and even though she should have kept kicking with all of her might, she could only watch as that small and red ladybug flew into the man's face—flew into his eyes.

The lake was still breaking as the man cursed and let Marie go. And Marie, stunned by everything she had seen, let her mother pull her away from the lake.

Her mother had not let her go on that frozen lake. That came later, with the train.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE YOU IN A YEAR (BUT HOPEFULLY SOONER THAN THAT).


End file.
